


More Than Corn in Indiana

by sailtheplains



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America - All Media Types, Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, Indiana, Nanners - Freeform, Original Character(s), about that Hydra base, unwilling Hydra agent, winterwitch - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-04-14 06:34:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 77,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4554417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailtheplains/pseuds/sailtheplains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky traveling cross-country after fleeing Washington DC. Trying to figure out a way to dismantle his arm, he makes a stop in Indiana at the Treble Inn. He meets Amish people.</p><p>And then runs into an old friend. And some new ones.</p><p> Mature rating started at chapter: Seventeen</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. About that Hydra Base

Bucky rocked back and forth gently. The train was cold and dirty but the car was empty, at least. He could no longer tolerate the stares on busses. He didn’t think anyone knew who he was—but he set people on edge. How he bundled up in the boiling summer, to trying to chip ice off his arm in the winter made it look like he was continuously stabbing himself. No blood though, so no one intervened. But he felt their eyes on him. He’d finally bailed and hopped onto a cargo train. It was heading east—which was all he knew by the direction of the sun. Summer was winding down and slowly, slowly, the days were climbing to a shorter end. 

He wasn’t really sure where he was going—just that he needed to keep moving. Every day, he seemed to remember more. Little flickers in and out, like fireflies. The nights were comforting. He was used to hiding in the shadows, used to darkness. Operating in daylight was…made his head feel like it was compressing in on itself. Felt constant eyes even when there were none. 

He wanted to take the arm apart—unsure if it was being tracked or not. But he had no tools and no one he could trust to help him if something went wrong.

Even…even Captain America—who remembered him—or someone he’d once been. He wasn’t sure he could trust him either. Bucky didn’t trust himself, let alone anyone else. And what if it was an elaborate trap. He wasn’t sure anymore what memories were his own.

Maybe a Hydra base? There was one nearby—relatively (there always was). Even if it was still in use—he could kill everyone in it and use their tools to get the arm off. Judging by the distance he’d traveled and the gradual change of leaves in the passing treeline—he knew he had to be in the north and probably heading through the Midwest, on to the east coast. Come night, he’d have a more secure idea of where he was. 

Darkness was Bucky’s friend. A comforting blanket, a cloak to hide under. The darkness didn’t hurt or blind him. The darkness was his friend. And when darkness came, he opened up the cargo car’s door an inch and gaze out. The stars were burning bright and he was able to easily find the North Star, and from there, Sirus—the Dog Star (how appropriate). And then Vega and Capella. Given how he lined up to them…and their movement westward across the sky—he could estimate being at about -.86 to -.89 degrees longitude. Indiana or close to it. Northern half. 

Bucky wrenched open the cargo door. Northern Indiana was home to three Hydra compounds. Given the abundance of farm land and the lack of active military bases (just a reserve base on the way to Indianapolis), someone buying hundreds of acres of land wasn’t unusual. They were all considered to be ‘fallback’ bases. Where to go in case of an emergency—if the Chicago and Detroit bases were compromised, head to Indiana. No one goes there for much—they couldn’t even buy alcohol on Sunday. 

The Amish farmers kept to themselves for the most part and the cities were really too small to be a worry. The capital, Indianapolis, didn’t even break a million people in terms of population.

Bucky listened, watching the ground. There were lights in the far distance. He jumped.

His arm creaked and cranked as he landed, rolling, into some high grass. He got up, slipping back into the shadows. A rucksack he’d picked up—from another homeless person in St Louis—went back on his flesh shoulder. He could feel the weight—he was nearly out of food. Well, there were plenty of farms around here—Indiana, after all, there’d be corn and apple trees.

He walked to the treeline—far back from the railroad and country roads. He followed the sun when it rose, heading east through the forest, avoiding out-of-season hunters and two old women looking for mushrooms. 

The forest split eventually, a chunk carved out like a pie to make way for an electric line. He crossed it, eyes flickering, dancing over the grass and the rolling flatland. He entered the other side, sighing with relief—

“Ah--!”

Bucky whirled around, gun out, pointing it at—

An Amish girl and boy standing in a small creek. The girl was in her long dress and bonnet, holding up her skirts above her ankles so they wouldn’t get wet. The boy in dark trousers rolled up to his knees and a plain shirt. They stared at Bucky.

Bucky stared back and then slowly lowered his gun.

 _”Should we get Father?”_ the boy asked the girl. It was Dutch, which Bucky recognized—but the Pennsylvania Dutch the Amish were known for.

_”He has a gun. Stay still.”_

_“He can’t be hunting with that.”_

_“No,”_ the girl confirmed for the boy. _”He isn’t hunting.”_

Bucky grunted at them in Dutch, _”Go. Both of you.”_

The girl’s breath caught in her throat. She dropped her skirts in the water. She kept her hands in sight to gather their net. The boy stared at him, openly. 

“Who are you?” the boy asked, in English. 

Bucky looked at him a long moment. “….my name is…..” he looked down. Was it a lie to say he knew his name was James or Bucky? “James…” he settled on.

“That's my name,” said the boy. He tried a smile. 

Bucky felt a strange impulse to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Well, maybe you can have it back when I’m finished with it?”

That seemed to put the children more at ease. The girl said, “Are you gonna be all right, Mister James? You look like you’ve been hurt.”

“Ruth, we should take him home—Mother and Father can see to him.”

“No….best not,” Bucky said softly, shaking his head. “Do you know where the nearest motel is?”

The girl nodded. “Nappanee is fifteen miles down the road. Outside of it, there’s a little motel. Out of the way. Lady who owns it is nice. It’s called Treble Inn.”

“She has a little farm,” added James. “But she doesn’t take on drunks or drug-users.”

Bucky nodded. “Thanks.” He slid his gun out of sight and started around them.

The children didn’t move. They watched him until he faded into the trees. 

 

 

 

US Highway 6 and Highway 19 crossed paths in the tiny town of Nappanee. Barely five square miles, a fifth of it was a golf course. It was a sleepy little town, not far from its sister, Wakarusa. Bucky did not enter it. He went around. In the southwest corner, he saw the motel. 

It might have seen better days but it did look more rustic than run-down and he could appreciate that (at least, he thought he could). As Ruth and James had indicated, there was a small garden out back. Vegetables, from the looks of it, and also a few herbs. Cherry trees dotted the property and apple trees lined the fences. A thatch of prickly blackberries had made a nest in the northwest corner. Behind the fence was a small shed that, no doubt, contained gardening tools and beyond that, a barn. He didn’t smell any animals—which was good. Less risk of discovery or noise 

By this time—the sun was well into setting. The motel appeared to have more vacancies than not. But he didn’t approach the lobby. He slipped around to the side of the building. He wanted to be out of the wind, at least. He was more tired than he’d anticipated. He’d hardly slept at all since running from Washington DC (from _him_ ). The building at his back and the trees blocked the wind. He got up only to gather some handfuls of fruit and then tucked himself in the corner. Wooden fence on one side, wall of the motel on the other—he felt more secure. 

Sleep came, unexpected and he was dead to the world. 

 

The moon watched over him.

 

Inside the Treble Inn, Victor had locked the doors for the night. He could hear Olivia humming somewhere in back. Typical, she was always humming or singing or something. The lobby was a large, warm, cozy room. A fireplace, threadbare, overstuffed chairs. A counter ran the full length of the back wall and behind it, a single door led to where he and Olivia lived. He went through it. 

The living room had a sunken floor, beyond it was a small kitchen. Upstairs was his room, Olivia’s was downstairs. She had inherited the motel after their parents died and she held it while he went to college. She liked gardening and playing in the dirt more than schoolwork and so it was a good blend when he came back to help her run it. 

Victor checked the back door and, satisfied that everything was secured, he turned. Olivia was sitting at her writing desk, listening to musi on her headphones. Music consumed her sometimes, like a virus. He waved to her, so not to interrupt and headed upstairs. She waved back and smiled. 

 

 

 

When morning came— Victor awoke to her shaking him. He started. “Liv? What is it?”

“There’s someone outside,” she said quietly, eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t know if there’s anyone else. I came in when I saw him.”

“Who is it?”

“I dunno. He’s all curled up in the corner of the fence. He seemed to be asleep but I didn’t want him to get the jump on me.”

Victor got up, pulling on a t-shirt. Olivia was in jeans and a tshirt, a flannel over it. He followed her downstairs and they went out together. Around the corner of the motel, they saw the man. Curled up in rags, thick boots, a cap—he was covered in dirt and he stank. 

Olivia approached. She had a craft hammer in one hand. Victor circled around, ready to pounce if the man attacked. She knelt. 

 

 

Bucky jerked at the touch to his arm. He came up swinging and then instantly froze, seeing a woman and a man. She had fallen back on the seat of her jeans to duck. He drew back into the fence.

“Sir?” the woman said carefully. “You all right?”

She was plain-looking but not unpleasant. The man had advanced three steps and stopped. He was the fairer of the two of them.

“Are you all right?” the lady asked again.

Bucky looked away from her eyes and nodded, short, stiff. 

“Is there someone we can call for you, pal?” asked the young man. 

“No,” Bucky grunted. “No…sorry….”

The woman hesitated. “Sir—are you bleeding?”

Bucky blinked and looked down at himself. His metal arm, where it met with the flesh—without regular maintenance, it was grinding into his shoulder. His sleeve was soaked in blood. 

“Holy shit, man. You need some help—do you need an ambulance--?”

“No!” Bucky growled. “no—no—no doctors. No. No.”

“Okay, okay…” the man said, lifting his hands, palms in a calming gesture. 

The woman knelt in front of him again. “Okay, we won’t call the cops. Won’t call an ambulance. How about you come inside, at least? It’s getting cool out. We can help you. “

Bucky swallowed hard, tensing. 

“We wouldn’t be able to just let you walk away, seeing you’re injured and all. Looks like you’ve been through the ringer, buddy,” she added on. 

Bucky’s eyes flickered between her and the man. He stood up straight. 

“No one is gonna hurt you,” the man said. 

Neither moved to touch him and so Bucky walked inbetween them, holding his mangled sleeve. Instead of the lobby, the woman opened one of the rooms. They were small but clean and comfortable. Neither of them moved closer. 

“Tell you what,” the lady said, “You take a shower and get cleaned up. Plenty of hot water—take as long as you want. This is my brother, Victor. He’s bound to have some clothes that you can borrow—and we’ll throw yours in the wash. How about that?”

Bucky looked around the room, listening for the faint buzz of a receiver. But he heard nothing. He nodded, grunting. 

The two of them walked out, shutting the door gently. Bucky was to it in an instant. He turned the deadbolt and flipped the lock bar. He stayed at the door, looking through a crack in the curtains until he saw both of them walk towards the lobby.

His mouth was dry and he shuddered. 

He turned the heater on, full blast—Christ, he was always cold. Slowly, he began to peel off the layers. Sweatshirt, jacket, flannel, t-shirt with the torn sleeve. He left them in a pile by the window. He took off his cap and dropped it. Next, his jeans. Caked, like everything else, in blood and sweat and mud. Tiny little burs clung to the cuffs. They had burrowed down into his socks too—but he’d never felt them. 

Bucky’s wounds from the fight with Captain America had healed long ago. The steel beam should have killed him, really—would have, a normal person. But it had merely pinned him. And he could remember, in a dreamy sort of way, remember Captain America coming at him. ( _He’s going to kill me. Finally. He’s going to kill me. Get up. Not the mission. Can’t let yourself be--_

And then, for some reason…Captain America had freed him. 

After diving into the water after the strange man, he could count more ribs broken than not. Several fractures, bruises and wounds—the shield alone had bashed him hard enough to kill a rhino. He healed in days. But his arm—mechanical—he could hear grinding inside. It had gotten worse over the last few months. 

Bucky looked up, meeting his own haunted gaze in the mirror. A full beard too. Made him look homeless.

_I am homeless._

Oh, right….of course. 

He went to the shower and turned it on as hot as it could go. He sat down in the bottom of the tub and rocked back and forth, gently. Closing his eyes and bowing his head, rocking back and forth gently. Soothing. 

Soothing.


	2. No Treble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's your name?

By the time Bucky surfaced from the shower, it was late in morning. He grabbed a fluffy towel and methodically wiped himself down. Almost out of habit, he crept out into the main part of the room, making sure it was still empty. He still didn't hear the faint buzz of a receiver of a microphone (he always picked them up because of his arm) or camera. But by the door was a small bag. He approached it, poked it with his foot and then picked it up.

One of the owners must have tried to open the door with a master key but had encountered the lockbar. So he or she had slipped the bag through the crack.

Inside, there was a small pair of scissors, a razor, shaving cream and a foil-wrapped lump that turned out to be a warm turkey sandwich (with mayo and lettuce). Underneath, there was a plain, blue t-shirt, a pair of sweatpants and socks. A small note was stapled to the bag, reading: _If you put your clothes in this bag and set it outside the door, we'll run them through the wash for you._

The writing was slanted slightly, mostly cursive, small and neat.

He put the note on the table under the window and set the bag down, grabbing the scissors and razor and cream.

He stared at himself in the mirror for a long moment before he raised the scissors to cut back the wild beard. He hadn't shaved himself in quite a while. In fact--he was certain that it was Before, during the war. When he'd been with......been in Russia---they hadn't allowed it. Someone else had shaved him.

Slowly, he raised the scissors and cut--snip, snip--close to his skin, watching chunks of beard fall into the sink. He also cut his hair back so it would be about neck-length again. He placed the steel scissors on the counter and grabbed the shaving cream.

 

He had started shaving before Steve--no surprise there. But the two of them had still figured that out together. Bucky messing with the cream, slopping it onto Steve's head, hearing him laugh and mock-threaten him with the razor. They were like switchblades back then, not like the safer plastic ones folks had now. It had felt like a cat's tongue the first time Bucky had slowly pulled the clean, shining edge over some scruff of stubble on his skin. The strange sound it made: _scraaaaaaf_

 

Bucky started, blinking hard and looking around the bathroom. A memory of another time in another place with...with Steve. He shook his head, hard and started. He raised the razor and methodically shaved off his stubble. _Scraaaaaf_ , like a cat's tongue on his face.

 

He felt better, cleaner, after shaving--though he did have to get into the shower again and rinse off. That was all right--his arm was seeping again anyway. When he got out, he pulled open the bag again and took out the clothes. He pulled them on. They were snug on him. The man, Victor, was much leaner than he was. But it felt nice to be in clean clothes. He stuffed his own clothes into the bag, peeked out the window to make sure he was still alone and then cracked the door a little, gently putting the bag ouside. Swiftly, he shut it and pulled over the lockbar again.

He stayed stock still at the door, watching through the window curtain. Both siblings came out again. The man led, the woman watching as he picked up the bag and nodded. The woman looked at the window but then turned and walked back with the man to the lobby.

He pulled on the socks and pulled up the sleeve of the borrowed shirt, placing a towel against the seam of his metal arm and shoulder. He cinched it there with his belt and then checked over the turkey sandwich before wolfing it down. He sat in the dark afterwards but the siblings did not return. He didn't remember passing out, but he did and he slept deep and dreamless, for the first time in many many months.

 

Victor and Olivia looked at each other over the mess of clothes.

"Maybe he's a veteran?" Olivia suggested. "Maybe--you know, one of those types--didn't do well when he came back?"

"He didn't seem like a drunk or a druggie," Victor mused, dumping the wad of filthy clothes into the washer while Olivia measured out extra detergent and slid the washer settings to Extra Large and Hot/Hot.

"We might have to wash these twice," she said, closing the lid.

"Or three times," Victor replied. "He looked like he'd been through hell. I mean--and his eyes were...."

"Yeah," Olivia agreed. "Yeah....like Grandpa's sometimes--when he talked about Vietnam."

"We should probably ask him if he has lice."

Olivia couldn't help but chuckle. "Let's just give him a fine tooth comb and lice killer. If that room gets infested, we'll have to bug bomb the whole place. Better be safe than sorry. Hopefully he won't be offended. What we need to do is get him somewhere to get his arm checked out. I dunno what kind of wound he has--but that blood was pretty gnarly."

"Yeah....maybe we could ask Jeremiah."

"Okay--we'll wait for the guy to wake up and I'll go over to their farm and see if Jeremiah can come. For now--we can give the guy some bandages."

"Guess I should have gone to medical school," Victor said, smiling.

"Yeah, you should have. But I guess we'll have to settle for engineer, for now." Olivia ribbed him.

When Bucky awoke late into the next morning, he sat up, looking around the room. Maybe it was never having a real sleep since 1945 but waking up was still disorienting. Terror he might wake up in a place and not remember where he was or who he was or how he'd gotten there. But no dice--he was still in the little motel room in borrowed clothes and a shaved face (just starting to get a little prickle of stubble). He sighed with relief, sinking back against the headboard. He was still so tired--but if he slept too much, he'd probably start feeling sick. So he got up and pulled his guns, knives and boots over to the window, sitting them on the table under the curtain. He took two small towels from the bathroom and a little jug of oil from his rucksack.

One gun at a time--he had three that remained to him. All three were handguns. One at a time, he laid them out on a towel, took them apart and cleaned them, put them back together, reloaded them and placed them around the room. One under a pillow, one in his boot, one next to the toilet. He sharpened the knives and slipped them back into their sheaths. His boots, he got as much of the muck off as he could and then he scrubbed them down in the bathtub. Afterwards, he rubbed them down with leather sealant, opened up the window about two inches and set them on the table to dry.

It was cool out this morning with a steady northwest breeze. It smelled like apples and sweet, dry hay. The smell of fields after a harvest. He hadn't learned that one in New York City, that had been on a job somewhere. Though he wasn't sure where anymore.

He pulled off the t-shirt so he could clean around his arm and shoulder. He could lose himself in that, cleaning the dried blood and puss off the flesh and metal, making that titanium shine. The red star glisten like blood. The only interruption was the grinding in his lower arm. If it got much worse, he wouldn't be able to move the fingers soon. Bucky pulled his rucksack to him and looked through the items he'd kept with him when he fled DC. His body armor was rolled up tight and rubber banded to keep it squished together. He still had a transmitter, which he'd turned off. A cell phone was nestled in the bottom. He hadn't turned it on and he had no charger for it. He had a small tablet. That should be safer than the cell phone to try and turn on. He set it on the table, flipping off the Wireless just to be safe and pushing in the power button. He'd stolen the tablet from....someone. Rumlow, he thought. Not from his person--but from his gear bag. Usually, Hydra goons were all faceless to him. He saw them come and go. Occasionally, he trained operatives and sometimes he even remembered them. But the goons--expendable, usually. But not Rumlow. He remembered Rumlow for some reason--though he couldn't yet remember why.

In any case, he'd found a Hydra van full of tactical gear. Rumlow's bag was nearest to the door and he grabbed it. He'd sorted through it later--extra shirt, the tablet, spare handgun (P220 Sig Sauer), utility belt and flashlight, an issue of Mens Health, a notebook with various entries about health matters, a photograph of a blond girl labeled "S. Carter" (that name seemed familiar), one of the Winter Soldier himself with his blood type written on the back and another photograph of Captain America without the helmet (Rumlow had apparently drawn a mustache on the photo with pen), and a plastic container filled with something Bucky didn't remember until he put some on his finger to taste it--pudding. Tapioca. The texture put him off. So he'd ditched the pudding and the backpack itself but took everything else.

The tablet was a goldmine in that it had a database of where current Hydra bases resided. There was one underground in a cemetery outside of Wakurusa. It was manned by scientists, of course, and contained a vault of equipment, a medical bay and a small research wing. According to the tablet, it didn't have a Chair unit--even better. He got a horrible nauseated feeling when he thought about the Chair.

_It makes no difference, if it's sweet or hot_

_Just give that rhythm everything you've got_

He froze, hearing humming and then soft singing. He slid out of the chair, watching the window. The young woman walked up. She had a sack in her hand. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Bucky didn't move. He continued to watch her, to see what she'd do. She'd stopped singing and humming. She licked her lips and set the bag down in front of the door. "Mister?" she called.

Bucky looked through the window towards the lobby--it was just her. The brother wasn't with her.

"Mister--if you can hear me--I just wanted to make sure you were all right. You...reminded me and Victor of our grandfather after he got back from the war--so, uh--we dunno what happened but--this bag has some bandages, fine tooth comb, some lice-killer and--there's some food. Um." He heard her voice quiet a little. "I mean, I don't know what you like but--uh--there's a tupperware. It's got bread and some sausages in it. And Vic donated some more of his clothes." She hesitated and then walked away, unconsciously began humming again.

That song.... _don't mean a thing if it ain't got swing..._

There was a memory there. He shook it away and waited until he saw Olivia disappear into the lobby. He opened the door and pulled the bag inside. Like before, there was a note stapled to it. The writing was more scrawling, a blend of print and cursive, it read: _If you need clean towels, put your old ones in this bag. --Olivia_

Bucky emptied the bag on the bed and stuffed the used towels in it. Two of them had blood on them. They were probably not salvageable. He turned her note over and wrote, carefully, _I am sorry about the towels. Thank you._ He laid it on top of the towels inside the bag and then set the whole mess back outside the door. He watched the window until she returned to take the bag away. Then he ate the sausages and bread. He was still not accustomed to solid food--not completely. And it still made him a little nauseated but---being able to taste something, to smell it, to take in the texture and feel full--it was such a nice feeling.

The bandages were next. He was grateful--but not sure how to express it to the two owners. He wrapped his arm from elbow to shoulder and slid on the new shirt (long sleeved, flannel). He slept again.

When he awoke next, it was light out again. He looked around--realizing he could hear humming. Ah--that's what had awakened him, likely. The woman, humming and softly singing to herself outside as she swept the wooden walkway in front of all the doors, had placed another bag in front of his door. Again, he waited until her humming and soft singing had faded ( _Starships were meant to fly, hands up and touch the sky_ ) before he opened the door and took the bag. Aspirin, food, more bandages, fresh towels. The note stapled to it read: _Don't worry about it_ with a smiley-face drawn next to it. It wasn't signed this time but he could see from the writing style, it was the woman again.

He showered, changed his bandages and ate the food (two sandwiches this time and a little bag with chips and another with cherries). The man, Victor, he remembered--had come by and knocked and again, Bucky didn't answer. He just watched him. He and the woman had similar face structure but didn't look much alike otherwise. Victor was dark-haired, with blue eyes, tall and lean. His nose was pointed and fine and he had a defined jaw. He had clean fingernails. He reminded Bucky of someone but, of course, wasn't sure who yet. The woman was much shorter, the sun seemed to burn her rather than tan. Her hair was toffee-colored, her eyes were hazel. Her nose was more rounded, like a mushroom. And where her brother was lean, she was curved. She had none of the willowy slenderness, which might account for why the brother appeared to run the lobby while Bucky had seen her outside in the garden. Her fingernails were always torn and usually dirty.

When evening came on the fourth day, Victor left another small bag, trading for Bucky's. The assassin waited until the brother went back into the lobby. He slipped out under the cover of darkness. He investigated the small shed and found it full of gardening tools, as he'd expected. The barn was empty of animals--except for a cat, who gazed at him with glowing eyes from up in the hay loft. He could see from the stalls that this barn had once housed horses. On the back wall, there were tools. Nothing high-tech enough to take apart the arm but they might be useful anyway. He took down a flathead and a Phillips screwdriver, a small hammer and a paint scraper. Placing Rumlow's flashlight on the worktable, he lifted some of the plates with the flathead, trying to see if he could find an obvious problem. There was dirt, some odd scratches and gauges. He poked inside and felt something give way but without opening up the whole arm, it would be difficult to figure out what. He looked in some of the cabinets and found some oil rags and electrical tape. Using the screwdriver, he braced the plates open and jammed three oil rags into the arm unit. His fingers didn't move as well but the grinding was softened, at least. He wrapped his hand and arm in the thick, black tape and then gathered the tools and took them back to the hotel room. Shut door, flip the lockbar.

 

Olivia was up first the next morning, as usual. She headed out, picking cherries and ripe apples. She had three baskets under the trees and she picked the apples which had already dropped first. Then moving on to some of the others. The sun was cool and a mist still covered the flat fields beyond the garden like a shroud. She could breath in the scent of cut hay and mowed grass as she reached, apple after apple. It was a good bunch this year. The economy had been all over the place once aliens started invading and big cities were being vacated by civilians. As much as a part of her wanted to see it--she still had a responsibility to the land here and her parents' motel. At least until Victor was secure. She reached up for another apple, peeled off a few leaves and dropped it into a basket.

She spotted a good-looking red one and planted her boot on a fork in the tree to lift herself high enough to reach it.

It did seem exciting though....the Avengers, spying, Shield and Hydra playing out some Cold War James Bond movie, almost. She reached higher, having to rebrace her boot when she slid back down. "C'mon, you," she grumbled. Her fingers brushed it and then grabbed on. She plucked it off and hopped down to the dirt. "You be a good apple," she told the apple and dropped it into the basket.

She turned around--

And nearly had a heart attack.

"Fuck--oh my..." she cut herself off, putting a hand to her sternum. "I'm so sorry. I didn't hear you approach."

The strange man was standing about three feet from her, watching her with those odd, dark eyes. He shook his head a little. He was clean-shaven now.

"So you've got a face under there," she said, suddenly a little awkward. "Thought maybe you were a bear in human form."

His eyes stayed hollow but the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Um....did you need something?"

He looked down and shook his head. "I...just wanted to say...thank you. For. Everything."

This man had been living in their motel for five days and this was the first time he'd spoken out loud. His voice was low and gruff. Gravely. "It's okay," she said softly. "Like I said...uh--you reminded me and Vic of our grandpa when he came back from Vietnam. Um--how's your arm?"

He looked away again, absently touching his left sleeve. "Where is your brother?" He asked instead.

She paused noticeably. "He's...in the lobby."

"Does he run this place?"

She seemed to relax a little. "We both do. I ran it while he was in college."

He looked back at her. "What did he study?"

"Um. Engineering."

His eyes sharpened. "What kind?"

"Er, electrical, I think." Her eyebrows furrowed. "Are you okay?"

Again, he didn't answer. He looked at her baskets. "Do you need help with those?"

"Oh--no--I can do it."

He picked one up anyway. She hesitated and then picked up a second basket and led him back to the lobby. She saw Victor spot them through the glass doors and come around the counter to open it for them.

Bucky watched him search his sister's face and then he looked at Bucky. The assassin felt Victor follow them behind the counter to enter the house.

"How are you feeling, buddy?" Victor ventured, watching as Olivia put down a basket and the strange man follow suit.

Bucky looked at him and then at Olivia. "I'm B......" he looked down. "I'm James," he said.


	3. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor: So....uh....you're the Winter Soldier, eh? Huh.  
> Bucky: /nod  
> Olivia:.....this is awkward.

“James—this is Jeremiah,” Olivia said, twining her fingers together. “He’s our friend. Um—we can see you need some kind of help—he’s a doctor for their community around here.”

Bucky eyed the man. He was stocky and of middling height. He had a long beard, salt and pepper grey that lay flat and groomed half-way down his chest. He held a hat in one calloused hand. His eyes were brown and bright and thoughtful. He was studying Bucky in return. 

Victor was leaning against the wall, arms loosely crossed. “Whatever happened to you—it’s okay. We won’t ask questions—but you’re still bleeding, pal. Jeremiah is Amish—he has no one to tell.” He shrugged at Jeremiah. “No offense.”

Jeremiah shook his head gently. “If there is something I can do, son, I will try.”

Bucky swallowed hard, looking between the three of them. The door opened and two more Amish folks entered. One was an older woman; the other was a young man. 

“That’s his wife, Ester and their eldest son, Joseph. They came in case he needed help.”

Bucky took them in as they entered the living room. “You mean in case I hurt him?”

They were all quiet for a moment, awkwardly.

Bucky shook his head. “I understand.” He stood up, sensing Victor straighten and tense when he did. He put out a placating hand. “It’s all right.”

To his credit, Jeremiah kept a remarkable poker face. He only continued to look thoughtful. 

Bucky hesitated for a long moment and then he unbuttoned the flannel shirt and pushed it off. “This might be beyond your expertise, Doc.” 

Victor looked immediately interested. “Is that a….prosthetic--”

And then Bucky peeled his t-shirt off. The red star blinked and glimmered at them. 

Jeremiah’s eyes widened. “Perhaps not—but, I can see the infection.” He looked over at Victor to ask about hot water and paused. “Victor?”

Victor was staring at the red star with his mouth hanging open. Olivia had dropped her pen, staring at it too, in stunned silence. The siblings met eyes over Bucky’s head and Victor took a quick breath. “Yes, Jeremiah—uh—what is it?”

“Is there a bowl I can use for hot water?”

“Yes—o-of course. This way.” Victor led Jeremiah to the kitchen, getting him towels and a bowl.

Bucky’s eyes shifted to Olivia. He saw her swallow hard, glancing at him, then at Ester and Joseph. They did not recognize the arm or realize who the man attached to it must be. The Amish tended to involve themselves very little with the outside world. They were interested in the arm itself. But Olivia and Victor…his eyes hardened at her. 

Olivia pulled on a smile. “Well, it’s good to see you out and about Ester. Your cold has improved.”

“It has,” said Ester. “And I’m glad for it, thank the good Lord. Jeremiah wanted to take just Joseph but—I heard from Isaac and how his two youngest ran into a strange person named James. I wanted to come and see. ”

Bucky blinked. “Ruth and James?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, said you came upon them in the creek. You looked like a wild man. Looks like you and Victor cleaned him up a bit, Olivia.”

Olivia smiled bracingly and nodded a bit. “Where did he meet them?”

“About fifteen miles south. Apparently, they told him how to get here. I hope that weren’t a problem.”

“It wasn’t. James has been a perfectly good guest. Just quiet.”

“Well, no nothing to be wrong with that,” Ester smiled. She was very matronly as she bustled over to pick up Jeremiah’s medical bag. “Come, Joseph. Let’s set up for your father.”

Out came tweezers and picks, instruments and scalpels. Joseph pulled out a set of plyers, seemed to consider them, looked at the arm and then laid them down next to everything else. Jeremiah and Victor returned to the living room and had Bucky sit in a wooden chair.

“Things have advanced since I was in the outside,” Jeremiah said quietly to Bucky. “This’ll sting, son.” He poured on disinfectant and took up a scalpel and pick, gently pulling up on the seam between arm and shoulder, scraping out dead and rotting tissue and lancing infection-filled sacs and blisters. It took well over an hour to completely clean it out. “He’ll need this checked every day,” he said quietly to Olivia and Victor. “You leave it be and it’ll get just as bad as before.” His fingers were bloody and coated in pus. He wiped them on a dishrag. “In three days, if it’s still hot to the touch or he starts running a fever—you come back and get me. Might be the limb needs to come off if it starts turning.”

Bucky watched the Amish man gently wipe his shoulder down again with disinfectant. He chewed his lip and then, “…..thank you.”

Jeremiah looked at him. “I’ve never seen an arm like that before, son. Take good care. You’re welcome—and God bless.”

The old doctor started to pack up his tools. Ester assisted him and Joseph took the bowl to dump out the bloody water. Jeremiah inclined his head to Victor and Olivia, who insisted on giving him money and a basket of apples. 

As he started for the door, Bucky stood, “Uh—Doc.”

He looked back.

“Those two. Ruth and James. Uh. Tell ‘em I said hello.” It came out stilted and awkward. 

But it made Jeremiah smile a little, making his whole face gentle. “I’ll do that, son.”

Olivia, Victor and Bucky followed the Amish family out, watched them get into their buggy and start away. When they were out of sight, the silence fell, oppressive. They turned as one to go back into the lobby and into the living room.

“So,” said Victor, to break the silence. “Your arm…”

Bucky looked at him sharply. “You recognize it.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah. All that data that was released to the internet by Shield….you’re the Winter Soldier. James Barnes.”

“Bucky Barnes,” Olivia added softly. “We learned about you in school.”

He tensed, stepping back from the two of them.

“Wait—“ Olivia said, raising a hand. “I understand now why you were so secretive. I’m sorry. You just—seemed like you really needed a doctor. We’re not going to tell anyone that you’re here.”

“We’re not?” asked Victor.

“No! Of course not,” Olivia snapped. “I may not have been in college but I read the files too, Vic. What they did to…him…you—it was terrible.”

“We thought maybe you were a veteran or something—and I guess you are, but…shouldn’t you…I dunno—be with the Avengers? You were Steve Rogers’ best friend. He’s still looking for you.”

Bucky looked down, shoulders hunching, feeling exposed and raw. 

“Maybe he can’t yet,” Olivia said quietly. “Maybe…he’s gotta, I dunno—figure out who he is first.”

Victor looked at her and then at Bucky. “Well—looks like Liv is sold then. If you want to stay here until you go back—we could always use some help around the place. And we gotta keep an eye on that arm.”

Bucky looked at the two of them under the curtain of his brown hair. He swallowed hard. “If I want to leave—“

“Then you can leave,” Olivia replied instantly. “But….just tell us first—we can give you supplies for the road.”

Bucky kept watching them, trying to detect a lie. But he saw none. He nodded. “Thank you,” he managed. 

 

It was strange to sit down to dinner with the two siblings. It was simple stuff, nothing fancy. Chicken and rice, with some peppers. Given he’d been completely silent with them for nearly a week—no one was sure what to say. 

Finally, Victor broke the quiet with, “I saw—the plating in your arm….it, uh, it seems stuck almost?”

Bucky looked at him and then nodded a little. “Was damaged in DC.”

“I, uh—I dunno if it would help but—I studied mechanical engineering in college. I mean—I’m no…I dunno, guys who create super arms but…maybe I can help?” 

Bucky looked at Olivia. “You said electrical.”

She snorted, smiling a bit. “I dunno the difference. He’s the smart one, not me.” 

“Why didn’t you go to college?” he asked her.

She hesitated and laughed a little. “Oh….I was always….too restless, I guess. Hated the idea of going to school even more—I never had the grades for college stuff. So I stayed here and inherited the motel and took care of it while he was away.”

Bucky glanced at Victor. “Why do you stay here if you’re an engineer? I can’t imagine there’s a lot to engineer out here.” _Unless, of course, he worked for Hydra and was playing dumb._

Victor wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I actually work remotely with a company in Chicago. So then Olivia gets to play in the dirt and practical stuff—and I stay in the lobby and I work from here. Every few weeks I drive up to Chicago for a few days but then I get to come back here.”

“How do you feel about dogs?” Olivia asked him.

Bucky looked sidelong at her. “Huh?”

“Well, just….I wanted to get a dog…but I can wait if you’re not comfortable with them.”

“It’s fine. Like dogs.”

“So we can start on your arm maybe tonight or tomorrow?”

Bucky nodded to Victor this time. “Yeah. Do…either of you have any road maps of this area that I could have?”

“Yeah, in the lobby---centers mostly around Amish Acres—a little tourist attraction around here—but it covers this area.”

When Olivia got up to go get a map, Victor scooted his chair closer to Bucky’s to examine his arm. 

“Do you have tools here?” Bucky asked him. “Something more than screwdrivers.”

Victor shook his head. “No. Nothing that I would trust to get this open.” He slid the handle of his fork under a plate and gently lifted it. “Do you know what you need? I mean…if we could get a list—we might be able to….order something.”

Bucky hesitated and then said, “There is a place nearby where I can get the tools I need.”

Olivia came back and handed him the map. Bucky laid it down and smoothed it flat. “Outside of this little town—Wakarusa. There’s a cemetery. Underneath the cemetery is a Hydra lab.”

“What!” Olivia exclaimed. “Holy shit.”

“Seriously?” Victor asked.

“Yes,” Bucky said softly, watching Victor closely. “So I would like for you two to tell me everything you know about Wakarusa.”


	4. Better Knocks from Jersey Boys

Bucky was not satisfied with a simple population estimate or the square mileage. He wanted them to tell him about the mood of this town, the politics, any upheavals, strange deaths, ghost stories. That was the detail that seemed to puzzle the siblings.

“Ghost stories?” Olivia asked him. “Why would you need to hear the ghost stories?”

Bucky had looked into his plate, seeing nothing beyond it. His eyes seemed to dull, traveling paths these two could not follow. “Because I know some of them.”

Olivia and Victor looked at each other. 

Victor reached over, gently touching Bucky's arm. "Hey, pal--you--don't fall into that plate. S'a big gap."

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows again. There it was, that familiar ticking, gears coming together, the clicking of parts of memory.

 

 

James Montgomery Falsworth was sitting by the campfire. He had already cleaned his weapons and had taken over watch from Denier. "Sergeant," he said quietly, looking down as his fingers skimmed along his tobacco papers.

"What?" Bucky asked, leaning back against a stump, fingers curled up together on his chest. 

"I won't ask what they did to you--but some are curious. The Captain said something about experiments?"

Bucky stared into the fire. "Yeah," he said softly. "There was." He half-smirked and took a pack of Strikes from his front pocket. He tapped it against his palm and pulled one out, letting it bounce between his lips while he got out his lighter. "Shoulda seen the girls. And the tea--you woulda died, James. They burned it, right in front of me. Then they realized I was American. Oops."

James shot him a look over his tobacco papers. "Oh, the humanity."

Bucky grinned at him. 

"I imagine it was awful--what they did," James continued, licking one edge and bringing the paper together. "We thought he was mad, that Captain--dressed like some godawful character. The only thing he'd ask about was you."

Bucky paused, sucking in on his cigarette and then ashing it. "Sounds boring."

"Quite," James agreed, half-smiling at him as he lit his own rolled cigarette. "Do you remember Lohmer?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Yeah, what a dick. I wonder what happened to him."

"We killed him, Sergeant Barnes."

Bucky did a double-take. "Wh--huh? Really? During the attack?"

"No--after they took you."

"Shit, I didn't know," Bucky said, resting his hand with the cigarette on his knee. "Should I apologize or thank you?"

Falsworth watched him. "Whichever please you. We were at him like the devil. Morita lured him into the cell block, Gabe Jones reached through the bars of his cell and snatched him. Pulled him back against the bars." Falsworth wasn't looking at his tobacco. He kept watching Bucky. "Morita took his keys and jammed the cell block doors. They freed us--and we beat the Colonel to death. Dugan took his club, beat his face black and blue. Denier took out his eyes. I had the distinct pleasure of slamming his teeth into the cell bars. Morita hobbled his ankles and for a few minutes, we watched the Colonel try to crawl away because he could not cry out for help. And then Jones walked up, gently rolled him over and stepped on his throat."

Bucky nodded a little awkwardly. A hint of shame that they'd gone to such lengths and the strange hot twist in his abdomen at the thought of them brutalizing that asshole. "Ah, well.....sounds like you didn't half-ass it."

They had separated Bucky early--as the commanding sergeant for his crew--they found him to be an instigator, constantly organizing escape attempts, comforting and assisting those who were tortured for information or taken away. Until finally, Lohmer himself came down to speak with Bucky. He had him dragged from his cell by two Hydra goons. They worked him over in front of the others. But Bucky would not cry out. Blood oozing from his nose and mouth, he laughed, spitting up blood at them, "C'mon, kids. I got better knocks from Jersey boys. Don't lovetap me now." 

Then Lohmer started. Bucky still managed not to scream but by the time Lohmer was finished, Bucky was covered in snot, spit and blood. His shirt was torn to ribbons. His eyes were blurry with unshed tears as Lohmer dropped him onto the concrete. One last zap with their goddamn cattle prod. The stench of burning flesh and racking, paralyzing pain. His eyes were red, making the smoke-blue seem brighter, shiny, clear. 

Lohmer and the guards walked away, leaving Bucky lying in the middle of the cell block. Immediately, Morita got on the floor, stretching through the bars. "I can't reach him. Gabe?"

"Sarge, you better still be awake," Gabe muttered, lying on the floor of his cell and reaching. "I got separated from my whole unit before I hooked up with you fellas--don't let me lose all that respect I had for you crackers."

"Here--" Dugan took off his hat. "Hook his foot!" He frisbee'd it over to Gabe. 

Gabe, with those extra few inches, hooked Bucky's bloodied foot and managed to scoot him nearer a few inches. Once the foot was in reach, Gabe grabbed him with one huge dark hand and pulled Bucky across the floor. "Sarge?"

"Is he dead?" Falsworth asked, removing his scarf and passing it to Denier, who passed it to Gabe. 

Gabe, like many big men, moved with agility and grace belying their size. He moved Bucky carefully, gently. "He's still got a pulse," he said. "And somehow, most of his teeth." He took the scarf from Denier to sop up some of the blood. 

"Here," Morita said, pulling off his undershirt and balling it up to throw across the block to Gabe. 

Falsworth was the only one who still had any of his gear. A small sewing kit, some tobacco papers and his belt. Bucky was moved carefully down the cell block to get him to the Englishman so he could stitch him up. Bucky didn't wake up until the next morning. He blinked hard, realizing he was staring at Dugan. "Dum?" he murmured.

"Hey, Sarge--you may feel like shit but trust me, you look worse. Here..." Dum Dum helped him sit up against the bars of Dum Dum's cell and he gave Bucky a little water. 

Goons showed up to drag Bucky to his cell later, sneering at the obvious attempt from the prisoners to help him. It was a day later that Zola appeared and did, as he had to others, pointing at Bucky and the guards hauling him away. 

"That poor bastard," Falsworth had said to the block at large. "Can't catch a break for anything."

 

 

 

That was who Victor reminded him of. He looked up at Victor--yes, that's who it was. Falsworth. _I wonder what happened to him._

"Are you all right?" Olivia asked quietly. 

Bucky looked away from Victor and nodded. "Yes." He looked at the map again. "I need to go scout out this cemetery."

"I can drive you," Olivia offered.

Bucky looked at Victor, then back at Olivia. "Fine. Do either of you know how to shoot?"

"I do," Olivia said quietly. 

"What kind of guns do you have?"

"Wait," Victor interrupted. "You said scouting."

Bucky fixed him in place with his dead gaze. "Scouting out a Hydra base." he stood up. "Olivia."

She stood to lead him to the study. "Nothing fancy and no assault rifles. Two shotguns and three hunting rifles. And we have two handguns."

"It'll do."

Victor watched helplessly as Olivia took down each gun. Bucky gathered them up and carried them into the kitchen. He hesitated and then sighed. "I'll get you guys some flowers and a couple headsets."

 

 

 

While Victor made them lunch, Olivia checked over Bucky's arm. He sat on his wooden chair in the bathroom and she helped him remove his shirt. 

Bucky was no stranger to people observing him and he had a way of blocking everything out. He just stared ahead, listlessly. She hovered over his shoulder, gently cleaning the tissue, the wound. He glanced up only when she frowned, eyes focused and then watched her swallow hard. "what is it?"

"Nothing," she said, a bit too quickly. 

He looked at her face and then suddenly understood. Of course--he was aware of how he looked. She was either scared of him or there was some base sexual attraction. 

"What should I do if you get attacked?"

Bucky looked up at her again at her question. "Do you have any combat training?"

"....no."

"What about Victor?"

"He doesn't either. 

"But you can shoot--if I get attacked, you should get back to the car and drive away. They don't care about you--they'll kill you. But I can't imagine they would kill me."

Her voice was soft when she asked, "....what would they do to you?"

"Wipe me again," he said flatly.

"Son of a bitch," she murmured. Her fingers suddenly took on a more possessive grip, like she could protect him if she could just hold onto him. 

"If that happens, though--there will be nothing you can do. Except tip off the Avengers."

"I hate feeling helpless."

"I know," Bucky agreed, shifting to let her mop up some of the sweat beading at the nape of his head. 

"Is that why you're letting me come?"

Bucky was quiet for a moment. "No. I'm letting you come because you offered to. Anyone who wants to feel like they can make a difference--I guess should be allowed to try. Hell, that's what Steve was like...." He looked down at his bare chest. 

"Would you teach me to fight if we can get the tools for your arm?"

Bucky's eyebrows furrowed and he looked up at her, considering her. After a moment, he nodded. 

She went quiet, tending to his shoulder and then wiping him down. "Looks better today."

Bucky nodded and stood. He towered over her in the small bathroom. She unconsciously stepped back into the wall. He looked down at her, watched her eyes flit down as she swallowed hard again. He stepped into her space again. He sensed her tensing, her thighs closing together. Sexual attraction it was, then. "You shouldn't leave yourself so vulnerable," he told her. "Control your body or it will control you."

And then he turned and walked away. 

Olivia stared after him, mortified that her reactions had been so easily detected. 

 

 

 

When she appeared to help with gear--she seemed more business-like. She was still friendly but she was making an effort to keep her reactions under control. She worked quietly and quickly. Adrenaline was already pumping though, he could tell in the tremor of her fingers and how she was humming to herself again. She was definitely untrained. 

Victor, on the other hand, was quietly preparing a headset for each of them and one for himself. "Prepare for the worst, hope for the best," he said quietly. "If you see any craziness--get back here," Victor told them, eyes lingering on his sister and cursing his lack of interest when his mother and father had offered to teach the two of them to shoot. It was kind of nice to see Olivia really focused though. There was some jealousy because Victor had always been the "smart one". But hey, she got to go scout with the Winter Soldier. How badass was that?

Bucky checked the car over and slipped on a long, dark coat to cover his arm and the two got in. She drove. 

 

 

 

The cemetery was surprisingly mundane. They walked about with a fistful of daffodils. She didn't know what Bucky was looking for and he stopped speaking once they entered the cemetery gates. She followed two steps behind him, watching the harshness of his profile, the quick jumping of his dark eyes. She could feel the weight of the revolver at her hip, hidden under her jacket. 

They went to a small mausoleum. Bucky crushed the knob and lock with his fist and they were inside. it was cool, quiet. It smelled like mothballs and bones. He stood in the middle of crypt and for a long time, he didn't move. Olivia wasn't sure what to do--and so stayed silent, waiting for him to see whatever it was he was looking for.

Bucky touched the stone walls and then stopped by the west corner. He beckoned Olivia over and pointed. She took his lead and did not speak, looking where he pointed. There was a tiny shell planted into the wall. His deft fingers curled under it and pried it off. It opened on a hinge, underneath was a fingerprint scanner inlaid over a carving resembling some kind of beast. He pointed at it, then to his head. _Don't forget._

He gently closed the shell cover and they walked out. When they were back in the car, he spoke, "They always have cameras or listening devices. Didn't see any cameras--so always assume they're listening."

She started to drive them back. "What do we do now?"

"We are going to do some homework. Then we're going to go back."


	5. Sound of Silence

He could feel the cold metal tracing around his right eye. Never going too wide or going too narrow. Circling. He could feel the gleaming edge, scraping over his skin but never hard enough to break the skin. Just circling, circling, like a hunter. Circling, like a vulture. Waiting for the moment to dive in and _rip_ and _tear_ , white jelly bubbling up from the socket around it and the dark storm-blue seeping right out of the iris and eeking out like blood. Cover his eye and his face as the vulture circled and came down again. A burst out blood, like popping a blister; organic, satisfying, horrific. 

There were hands all over him, holding him down. Holding him back. Circling. Circling and breathing and panting and sweating, screaming and crying and bleeding. The hands on his face. On his face. On his--

He came up swinging, eyes wild.

Olivia grabbed his wrists. She certainly wasn't strong enough to overpower him but it was the action of it that made him start. He breathed. He looked at her. _You didn't pull the lock bar over._ He could see It in her eyes. Something between pity and remorse and wanting to help but not knowing how. All of it was as plain as she was, she was as open as a book. There was no fear. Just concern. Nauseating.

He pulled back and she let go of his wrists. "What time is it?" he asked.

"Nearly dawn," she said, softly.

"Good a time as any." He got up. "Meet me outside in five."

She got up too, almost reached out--and then didn't. She turned and left his little room and gently shut the door.

He heard her start humming again, singing softly to herself, as always. It seemed unconscious. He'd met odd people in his time--even those with strange abilities and powers. Her constant humming and singing didn't strike him as an ability--just weird.

 

In five minutes, he was outside in the garden. T-shirt, his trousers--just because he was so accustomed to fighting in them and his boots. She was wearing a t-shirt and sweats. 

"Did you work on the arm exercises?" He asked.

"Yes," she told him. "Like you said--feel like someone beat me with a tire iron."

"Good. You're gonna feel worse after today."

Her lips thinned and she nodded.

Remembering to pull his punches with her was something he had to consciously grasp. He didn't want to break her arms or her ribs. Or her legs. Or really--he didn't want to break her. Just make her stronger. 

Not how they made _him_ stronger. No. Not like that. Not like that. Not like that--

 

He threw her. She went crashing into one of the apple trees. She cried out softly and tumbled out of the limbs. She shuddered. He watched her touch her back, feeling the blood there. She stood up, panting, face sheened in sweat. The sun was up now.

Then he followed up, a backhand to her face, kicked her legs out from under her. But this time, she rolled away from him, staggering up, dodging his next punch. 

_Good, good, Sergeant Barnes. Good..._

His eyes seemed empty, dark. He lashed out--a kick that sent her sprawling in a row of potatoes. He saw her eyes water. Saw her gasp, holding her hip. Her nose was bleeding. She wiped it on her arm. 

_Do it correctly! Correctly! Do it right!_ A blinding pain in his right eye (circling). He twitched and pulled back for a second. 

Something about her expression, it changed. It turned _concerned_. It was _enraging_. 

_Bucky...?_

"Who is that?" 

Olivia stopped in place, peering at him. "Who is who, Bucky?" She glanced around.

"The man on the bridge," he grunted. 

Olivia looked wary now. ".....I....don't know, Bucky."

He moved so fast--she never had a chance of dodging. He had her by the throat, throwing her. She hit the tool shed and crumpled. 

"B-Bucky!" she managed, scrambling to get up.

He had her in a flash. He slammed her against the tool shed, stepping into her space. "So predictable. Every time." He squeezed slowly, waiting for the burst of tissue and muscle and blood. Slow and easy. _Good, good, Barnes. Good...._

His eye twitched, white heat flashed through it again (circling). 

"Bucky..." Olivia gasped. Her fingers were scrambling uselessly at his. She kicked at him, desperately. "Bucky, don't--"

 

_...make me do this._

 

Her eyes were shiny, bubbling now. The green was so stark against the bloodshot whites of her eyes. The green was shiny and deep, like the ocean. It was beautiful, in a way. Even though it did mean she was losing oxygen. Death was beautiful in its own way.

_Your work....has been a blessing to mankind._

He had smeared a lot of work on a lot of walls.

Where was he, anyway?

"B...." Olivia managed, her hands finally falling to her sides. 

 

_Please don't make me do this._

 

Bucky jerked, dropping her, letting go of her. "Shit," he knelt down next to her. "Olivia. Shit. I...."

She gasped, wheezing on the ground against the shed. 

"Olivia..."

She looked up at him, bloodshot eyes streaming and snot on her face. She shuddered and smiled a little. "Gotta....get better at dodgin', huh?"

Bucky shuddered a little but couldn't seem to help the little smile that gave him. "Yeah. Little bit." He picked her up and carried her to motel. 

"I can...walk...." she managed, shuddering.

"Yeah, could be. But I think your brother will be mad."

Olivia scoffed softly but when Bucky looked down at her, she didn't continue. 

Inside, he set her at the kitchen table. "So, what to do if you're being choked out. Let's discuss that," Bucky said quietly. _In case you need to protect yourself from me too._ He brought her a little water and an ice pack. He could see the marks forming on her neck already.

 

 

Captain Steve Rogers rubbed a hand down his face. One lonely ping from a satellite to Rumlow's data tablet. It was scrambled, of course, but with Natasha's help, he could see it had come from somewhere in the midwest. Either Indiana or Michigan. Rumlow wasn't using the tablet--Rumlow had been crushed when the building collapsed. Sam had barely made it out--how could Rumlow have survived?

Then again.... _been there, done that_. 

The signal had gone out almost as soon as it had shown up. On and then off. Rumlow couldn't have made it all the way to the midwest....could he? If he _had_ survived--could Hydra have picked him up and treated him? But then why would he be in the middle of fucking no where? 

It was just such an oddity that he couldn't ignore it. Steve had no lost love for Rumlow. The guy had been a good strike leader--but he was a dick. Oh, and a traitor. But his data tablet suddenly showing up months after the DC fight--when all had been completely silent before that--it was the definition of suspicious. If it had been stolen, it would have been turned on long before now. Why the delay? The internet connection had been turned off, which kept him from getting a more precise location but all their tech gear had satellite chips in them. You couldn't just get into a fight and then leave this shit lying around for civilians to find. 

Steve drummed his fingers on the countertop. Bucky was the priority--but this was unusual and Bucky's trail had gone cold. As much as it sickened him, as distressing as that was--he had to keep busy. He had to keep busy. Thinking about Bucky in the middle of some city, lost, afraid, hurt--what if he got sick? What if Hydra operatives found him before Steve could get to him? What if they wiped him again? He wasn't sure he could stand another fight with Bucky. He'd been ready last time. Last time on the helicarrier. 

He'd rather be dead than have to deal with this constant barrage of hate and loneliness. The isolation, the despair, the loneliness of knowing that the most important person in the world to him couldn't remember him. And no one else can understand it. Except maybe Thor. But Thor wasn't around much, which was a damn shame. He'd managed a few years before he'd reached his limit. If God did exist (which he had long ago begun to doubt), he was an asshole. 

 

Steve would never be a family man, not anymore. He lamented that somewhere deep down because he could, at one time, imagine himself being good with kids. He would enjoy being a father, a husband, a grandfather.

But since he awoke....that was far from his mind. He could never go back to that. 

Find Bucky. Fight bad guys. Hopefully win. Try not to die. Maybe convince Thor to let him come see Asgard.

He couldn't find Bucky so maybe this was the opportunity to go try to find some bad guys to fight. Anything to keep busy. He tapped a few keys, directing the computer to enhance the traces of the signal and try to strengthen it so he could get a better idea of the location. 

Sam was out with that Sharon Carter--the cute nurse from next door. Turns out she was Peggy's grandniece? And that had cut off all interest, romantically. No offense to Sharon, she was nice, but it was just too weird to date a relative of Peg's. Not to mention incredibly unfair to Sharon--as she would constantly be living in Peg's shadow. He would never be able to be with her and not think of Peg. 

So Sam had carefully asked him if it would be all right to give her a call. And of course, Steve had told him yes. It would help him think of Sharon more like a sister, rather than Peg's niece. 

Besides, they were ridiculous together. In a gross, cute sort of way. And it was fascinating for Steve to watch--this century really had come a long way. In his time a black man and a white woman--it was unheard of. Even poor Gabe Jones had not been able to escape the ugliness of racism--even as a Commando. Some things were really depressing about the world now, some things were terrifying about the world now....but those were moments when he could remember the good things too. His two friends could be happy--regardless of their race. Or gender, now. Which had been even more unheard of than interracial relationships and almost universally guaranteed to get you an ass-kicking or killed. It was nice, really. This generation wasn't nearly as bad as their predecessors made them out to be. But when was that a surprise? Every generation did that to the one that came after.

Steve got up while the computer worked and packed a kit bag. 

If Steve was in the quiet too long--he would hear the wail start. A strange muted screaming that wormed its way into his brain and started when the quiet went on for too long. Breaking glass, yelling, panicked civilians, explosions and under it all--the shrieking. Like an echo. He curled his fingers tight in his gear bag and swallowed hard. 

_The Winter Soldier..._

Metallic, wrenching, bone-chilling, screaming.

He shook himself and went to his record player. It was vintage, like him, and he put on something--a man called Frank Sinatra that Natasha had told him about. 

Anything to banish the silence.


	6. Strategical Error

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a note, I wrote this part _before_ Cap 3: Civil War came out. So when I sat in the theater I was like: Oh hey! 
> 
>  
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------------------  
>  _To think, I used to think people my rank were somehow competent and in-charge. Shit. Strategical error, guys._
> 
>  
> 
> \------------------------------------------------------------------

“So the poor guy—he looks lost for a second, right? And I can tell he’s flailing because he doesn’t know what to say to Carter. So he manages, _Do you…..fondue?_ ”

Bucky burst out laughing. 

“I almost felt bad—I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone sound so damn heartbroken. Later I told him what it meant—only because one of the pretty little numbers gave him a kiss and Carter saw and she was mad as a hornet. And he says to her, he says, _What about you and Stark….fondue-ing?_ I thought he was joking!”

“He really didn’t get it!” Bucky was rolling in his chair. “You shoulda told him that it meant you were gonna cover _her_ in cheese.”

“I like you, Barnes. You’re a man who speaks my language.”

“What are you two doing?” Steve had his arms crossed, looking at the two of them. Carter was standing next to him, eyebrows raised and unimpressed.

Bucky and Howard looked at each other. Bucky looked back. “Fondue-ing.”

Howard choked and burst into laughter. 

Steve looked at the floor, a red flush burning his ears.

“If you boys are done playing, there is a power source to be deciphered,” Peg reminded them. 

Howard scoffed. “Finest minds are already working on it. I’m a genius. This thing ain’t going anywhere, Peg.”

“Yeah, and I’m just giving Howard ideas. Like a soundboard.”

“I shoulda left you there,” Steve told Bucky.

Bucky grinned. “You couldn’t leave my pretty face there for someone to peel off, Stevie!”

“Speaking of your pretty face,” Peg said, lifting her nose. “You need to stay away from the nursing barracks. Even Stark somehow manages to contain himself around them.”

“Bucky!” Steve exclaimed, flabbergasted. “You’ve been here for three days!”

“Man’s got needs,” Howard justified.

“You be quiet,” Steve commanded, pointing at Howard.

Bucky sniggered into his shirt sleeve, watching Steve put his hands on his hips. “C’mon, are you _that_ surprised?”

Steve huffed and looked at Carter. “I’m sorry, Peg…he’s….uh….”

“I’ve always been this way,” Bucky told Peg, grinning at Steve’s discomfort. “Though I’m not used to gorgeous dames taking his side.”

“Right!?” said Howard, throwing his hands up and looking at Bucky. 

“She’s a woman, Bucky. Not a….a dame…” Steve looked away awkwardly so he didn’t see the gentler look Peg got on her face. 

Bucky looked at Howard and then back at Steve and Peg under the fringe of his dark hair. His eyebrows raised. “Holy shit,” he muttered. “You’re right, Steve,” he said, straightening up a little and looking at Carter more seriously. “Sorry, ma’am. I really didn’t mean any disrespect.”

Steve nodded awkwardly again. “Well—I…meetings.”

Peg nodded. “Meetings.” The pair walked off together.

Howard leaned over to Bucky. “If you go around the back of the nursing barracks, there’s a trap door that will take you into the basement.”

“Son of a bitch,” Bucky said, laughing and reached out to shake Howard’s hand.

 

 

 

Bucky’s eyes opened. He stared at the ceiling, breathing softly, perfectly still. _Peggy Carter. Howard Stark. Stark…..Stark….._

Tony Stark. Maria and Howard Stark. Long Island. 1991. 

Bucky sat up, trying to push that memory away. 

 

 

“Barnes?” Howard stopped short. “James Barnes!” 

Maria looked over at him. “It can’t be!”

Yet, there he was, standing still as a statue in their dining room. 

Howard dropped his suitcase and went right to him. “Where have you been? Steve was so---distraught looking for you! How did you survive the fall in the mountains! When he went into the ice—where were you! What happened! Maria get the phone—we have to call Peg! She’ll be so excited! Why—“

Maria screamed something, reaching into her purse for her handgun.

The Winter Soldier pulled the blade across Howard’s stomach, spilling his guts. The Soldier saw confusion in Howard’s face, _recognition_ , more confusion and then, “You’re…..Hydra…?” And then the light went out of his eyes and he slumped onto the carpet. 

The Winter Soldier drug him over to Maria, who tried to shoot him—but he was too fast. He backhanded her, tossed her gun away. She was kicking at him when he grabbed her by the hair with his metal hand. She reached for Howard and the Winter Soldier shook her. He drug them to their car. He made Maria sit up front, Howard in the passenger side. And then he stepped away.

She could only start the car, backing up too fast and peeling off into the street. Down the road. She would go to the hospital, then to Shield—Shield—she had to contact Peggy Carter. Somehow James Barnes was alive—

The car exploded. 

The Winter Soldier crushed the detonator, cleaned up the scene and then went to his designated pick-up point.

 

Bucky took some deep breathes and then made himself get up. He felt nauseated—but he typically did after memories came to him—whether they were good or bad. He sat in the bottom of the bathtub for about an hour, just letting hot water beat down on him. 

When he exited the motel room, he could hear singing again—so he knew that Olivia was outside somewhere. He pulled his flannel shirt closer to him. She’d needed a few days to recover after their last training session. Such a shame she was only human—the human body healed so slowly. But the bruises now were fading to yellow on her neck and her scrapes had scabbed over. She didn’t complain or bring them up in any way, which Bucky could respect. 

She was singing about being in New York City, waking up in the city that never sleeps or something. She paused every phrase or so, to heft an ax and chop a chunk of wood in half. 

“You look like you’re feeling better,” Bucky said gruffly.

She stiffened a little, so at least she was getting better at detecting him—or not showing so much surprise. “Uh, yeah. Yeah.” She turned to him, nodding.

“I want to go back to the base today.”

She nodded and let the ax head slide to her boot. “All right. I’ll get the stuff.”

 

Bucky stood in front of the siblings, checking over the small array of guns and knives. “I’ll go in first,” he said. “Olivia—you’ll cover me from behind. You stay at least fifteen feet behind me. Don’t show yourself unless absolutely necessary. Don’t shoot unless you’re gonna hit. If you see any strange words on the walls—or they yell some nonsense that makes me freeze or act weird—you’ll have to leave. There won’t be anything you can do if that happens. I don’t know if there are any trigger words but if you suspect something—leave. And…..contact the Avengers or something. There…won’t be anyone else who could do anything…” 

“What about me?” asked Victor, looking uneasily at the guns. He pulled out a notebook.

“Headset jockey. You’ll stay in the car in case we need a quick getaway.”

“What time do we leave?” Victor was taking notes.

“Nightfall,” Bucky told them, gently laying down one of the hunting rifles. “I don’t know what all they have in there—so I’ll take all the cover I can get. Victor, you’ll park in the cemetery, leave the lights off.”

“What if a cop comes by?” Victor fretted. “They do patrols through there sometimes.”

“Tell ‘em you’re in mourning. Make something up,” Bucky told him.

“You just can’t bear to leave,” Olivia added, starting to smile. “Tell ‘em all about how I got killed in New York City. Very tragic—but make it super heroic. Like—I saved Thor or something.”

Victor huffed at her. “You are…can you take this seriously, please!” He snapped.

“I am!” Olivia replied, fiddling with her jacket sleeve. “You’re supposed to be the smart one around here, Vic. Lie.”

Victor scowled, nervously twisting his ink pen. “Where are we supposed to go if Hydra does get you?! What if they send you right back after us?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Olivia cut in. 

“No—he could kill us!” Victor threw his arms up. “He’ll come back here and burn this whole place to the ground—Treble Inn no more. I mean—I….” he looked at Bucky. “I know you’re…in control. I just…”

Bucky nodded. “I get it. If they get me—you need to run. And then call the police. The Avengers. Whoever. But don’t stay in one place.”

Victor wrung his hands together. “You know—I dunno if this is such a good idea—why don’t we just call the Avengers right now—“

“Vic,” Olivia said quietly, “everything is going to be fine. Just calm down. You’re starting to freak out.”

Victor pressed his lips together tightly, looking between the two of them. “All right….all right….”

 

Bucky got his gear on, his full Winter Soldier regalia—minus the face mask. Olivia looked both anxious and impressed. He handed her Rumlow’s armored shirt. “Put this on. It will be too big for you—but it’s better than nothing.”

He watched her take it, touching the Kevlar and take a deep breath. It was hitting her about now, he supposed, that this was really going to happen. She could die. Very easily. He watched her swallow hard and pull the body armor over her head and her tee-shirt. He stepped in to secure the straps and tighten the leather notches. She watched him closely, her eyes were like little birds, nervously flitting here and there. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, softly.

Olivia looked up at him. “….I don’t want to just be a gardener forever.”

Bucky studied the resolve in her face and nodded. He checked her boots and the rough hunting trousers she’d put on. It wouldn’t stop a bullet—but it would resist a knife, at least. He took out some bandages. “We’re gonna wrap your palms in these—because you’re gonna start to sweat. Break out in a cold sweat—from nerves. I don’t want your hands to slide on the guns. Understand.”

She nodded silently, not quite trusting herself to speak. Her fingers were icy cold, which Bucky recognized as nerves and adrenaline. He remembered icy cold fingers himself right before his first skirmish with Nazis. He shook himself before his mind could wander that road. Time for focus was now. Memory could come later. 

 

_To think, I used to think people my rank were somehow competent and in-charge. Shit. Strategical error, guys._

 

 

They went out to the car. This time, Bucky drove. Olivia had gone very quiet, swallowing hard and breathing deep and slow in the passenger seat. Victor was sitting in back, looking queasy.

 _I shouldn’t be bringing civilians into this…_ He glanced at Olivia again and suddenly remembered a little blond shrimp, insisting he could look after himself, desperate to fight in a war too big for him…

He shook himself internally.

At the cemetery, it was dark and grim. There were a few lights on the walking paths winding through the tombstones, but otherwise, the night settled heavy and thick. When Victor sat down in the driver’s seat, Bucky handed him the shotgun. “Just in case,” he said. 

Victor took it gingerly, looking up at Barnes and his sister uneasily. She was humming “Danger Zone” to herself anxiously. 

The two of them, the Winter Soldier and the manager of the Treble Inn, walked into the mausoleum. 

“No more humming or singing,” Bucky said sharply, though quietly. “You need to be more aware of that habit.”

Olivia nodded fast, shutting up. 

Like before, Bucky pried open the little shell catch. He pressed the first finger of his right hand onto the print reader. It beeped and turned red. “Hydra. Mission call number: 58769FJ, Washington DC. Fallback call sign, Royal Flush.”

“ _Voice verification accepted_ ,” said the reader. 

A panel popped open in the wall, Bucky latched his metal fingers under it and got it open. He pressed a red button and a door sunk in and then moved. Stairs led down. Bucky turned and gave Olivia one last look, a last chance to back out. She swallowed hard and met his gaze, mouth tightening. Bucky nodded and headed down the steps.

As directed, Olivia stayed several feet behind him. The staircase opened into a concrete room with an observation window above. This is where the camera video feeds began. Olivia hung back inside the stairs so she wouldn’t be seen. 

Bucky walked into the center of collection room. He remembered this. This is where someone would come for him, hose him down, take his armor, have him ringed by gun-toting guards. 

_As much as they depended on me, they were afraid of me._

He stood quietly in the center of the concrete room, seeing two grunts observing him from the viewing window. 

“That’s him,” said one.

“Holy shit,” said the other. “We thought you were dead, Winter Soldier. Stand by for collection.”

Within moments, the two grunts were down the steps and opening up an armored door. One held his rifle at low-ready while the other approached. 

“Are you hurt—“

Bucky grabbed his face and slammed it into his knee. Blood and brain matter splattered him. He was quick as a wink, grabbing the other's rifle, yanking him forward and snapping his neck. He glanced back and waved Olivia forward. She came out from the stairs with her rifle still to her shoulder, staring at the dead bodies before reaching down and grabbing one of the grunt’s rifles, slinging her own across her back by its strap. She could smell blood and shit but when she looked at Bucky, he was already heading for the armored door.

She hurried to follow. 

 

Everything from there was robotic for Bucky. Autopilot, even. Faces dissolved before him in frightening clarity. Disconcerting numbness. He heard the crack of gunfire—but it never touched him. He even forgot about Olivia—his mind just seemed to blank out. Doing what he’d been _programmed_ to do. Like a reflex. Like breathing. 

When he became aware again, he was standing near the back exit, surrounded by corpses. He looked around—saw Olivia crouched in a doorway, gun still to her shoulder. She was shaking very faintly but when she saw him looking, she put her weapon down and drug off a goon’s gloves and armored gauntlets to put them on herself. 

The Winter Soldier nodded at her and waved for her to follow. He walked down a back hallway. This base was set up like so many others—it was efficient, if nothing else. The lab had two guards and two scientists. It was a small lab, hardly worth a damn in this Indiana backwoods. Bucky strode towards the guards and-- _Pop! Pop!_

One’s face exploded. Bucky looked at it with a vague sort of interest, like one observes a bug that has flown into a windshield at high speed. He grabbed the other in a flash and whipped him around. Bucky met Olivia’s eyes. He held the struggling guard in place and furrowed his eyebrows.

Olivia hesitated only a moment and then fired. She was panting to herself, trying to keep it silent. Bucky merely nodded to her, dropped the dead guard, and then went inside to take care of the scientists. A few screams and thumps later, they were alone. 

Bucky strode over to the observation panels and flipped through all the cameras—empty. He absently counted the bodies he saw. Fifty-two. He looked over at Olivia, who looked lost and still had her gun to her shoulder.

“Relax now. They’re all gone. It’s just us.”

Olivia strangled a sigh of relief and sunk down slowly into a chair.

“Are you all right?”

The young woman was struggling to get control of her breathing. “I….I am….queasy.”

“That’s normal. This the first time you’ve ever killed a person, right?”

Olivia nodded.

“How many did you shoot?”

She looked down, eyes flicking, scanning. “It….it all happened so fast….”

“How many do you remember?”

“Four,” she said. “But….I’m not sure if….there were others.”

“You probably won’t remember. The first time in combat—is overwhelming. You’ll find you won’t be able to remember chunks of what happened here today. Or how we got from the collection room to here.”

“Do you….get used to it—the killing?”

Bucky looked at the corpses of the scientists. “Faster than you can imagine.” 

She went quiet, laying her gun down and started peeling off her gloves. Her hands were still shaking as she reached up to press on the call button of her headset. “V-Victor?”

“Yeah?” His voice came in loud, eager.

“It’s all clear.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah…I’m okay….”

“You want me to come down there?”

“No. No….there’s….a lot of bodies, Vic.”

Victor went quiet, so Olivia looked at Bucky. “What are we gonna do with all these bodies?”

Bucky looked at them and shrugged. “There’s probably a disposal unit somewhere in the lower levels. We’ll clean them up.”

“A disposal unit….?” She asked.

He looked over at her and met her eyes. He simply nodded. “Yes. A disposal unit.”

Olivia looked down at her knees and leaned over a little bit.

All in all, she was taking it pretty well. Bucky went back to his task. Small tools and a diagnostic scanner, which he booted up and set it to take readings on his arm. 

Olivia just watched him, until the door opened. In a flash, she was grabbing her rifle and standing up—Victor threw his hands up. “S’just me!”

“Vic—I told you to stay out…”

“Yeah, well.” He wiped his mouth on his knuckles and Bucky could see the faint smear of what was probably vomit on his shoes. “I wanted to see this lab.”

Bucky slid his gun back into its holster, stuck keeping still for the scanner. When it finished, he read the panel. “Victor. Have you ever taken apart a power supply?”

“Yes, of course,” Victor said, avoiding looking at the scientists.

“Then we’ll come back here tomorrow. I’m going to need you to help me open my arm up.”

“Are you….are you sure—“

“Yes,” Bucky interrupted. “But first—we can’t leave these bodies lying around. They’ll start to stink and attract bugs. It’s unsanitary. We’ll take them to the basement. Tomorrow—Olivia—you can collect all the gear and strip them.”

Olivia looked a bit alarmed at that but said nothing. Olivia pulled a scientist over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Victor winced, doing the same, even if every part of him was recoiling in revulsion. Bucky grabbed two and drug them beside him. He led the siblings to the basement. In one room at the end of the hall that already smelled coppery—was a large, shiny, modern furnace with a conveyor belt inside.

Bucky dropped the bodies on the ground. “This will turn the bodies to ash so we don’t have to deal with bi-product.” He looked at the siblings, noting how Victor looked like he was going to puke again and Olivia was becoming pale. Right. New to the game. He sighed, “Why don’t you two go up and get some air?”

They both looked at him: Victor with relief, Olivia with guilt. 

“Go,” he told them.

He emerged an hour later. “All right. All the bodies are piled in the furnace room. Olivia—tomorrow, you’ll strip them and collect all their gear while Victor helps me with my arm. All right?” He peered at her extra-hard.

She nodded. “Okay. I can do it.”

Victor opened his mouth—and then closed it.


	7. Pigs for the Machine

Bucky watched Victor carefully as the young man adjusted one of the diagnostic machines. He set everything in place, attaching sensors and little claw cradles. 

“So, when I push this—this will open up the arm panels?” Victor asked, pointing to the computer screen.

“Far as I know,” Bucky told him. He watched Victor hesitate and then he pressed the screen. It sent a ripping shock up Bucky’s arms, making him grit his teeth. But then all the panels rippled, like steel scales. And then they opened, like wing flaps on a plane. 

“Now,” Bucky directed, “you see that spinning light above my elbow?”

“Yes…” Victor said, enraptured by it. The glow reflected in his dark eyes. 

“It needs to be switched off.”

Victor raised his eyebrows at him. 

“At the elbow, there are two titanium locks. They need to come apart—no! Not with the picks—use the rubberized ones—it’ll shock you to death if it touches metal like that.”

Victor swore softly. He was starting to sweat around his hairline. “Like Operation.”

“Yes….” Bucky agreed slowly. “Like….an operation.”

“No—no, I meant the—I mean. Nevermind.”

Bucky watched Victor shake out his hands and how his nerves seemed to settle almost instantly once he had tools in his hands. Victor carefully pushed in the pins to the locks. They disengaged and, one at a time, Victor slid out the titanium cores from the locks and then hung them carefully onto the shell of Bucky’s arm wrapped in cloth. 

The upper panel of Bucky’s arm opened out, like a cupboard. Victor slowly removed the oil rags, setting them aside. 

“The upper hatch has a seal,” Bucky started again. “The seal will unlock the lower panel. They use a special tool to get it open. A long hook that has a tiny camera inside and a reader, to scan the control access chip.”

Victor scoured the lab, bringing back all the possible tools he found. Bucky sighed softly—probably for the first time—relieved to see the hook scanning tool. “Move it inside slowly. Try not to touch anything else.”

He watched Victor slowly lower the hook to the control access chip. It beeped and clicked. The lower arm panel popped up a little. Victor removed the hook and opened the panel all the way.

“Holy shit, this is crazy. Like Terminator territory.”

Bucky snorted softly.

“I mean—“ Victor stammered. “I mean—I didn’t mean—“

“It’s all right. Now that the panels are open, use that scanner again to touch the chip in the middle of the power core.”

“You know—this isn’t what I meant when you asked if I’d ever taken apart a power supply.”

“Close enough,” Bucky told him. 

“This is like Stark technology.”

“Well, be careful then.”

Victor sighed and slowly touched the chip. It beeped and the core slowly powered down, the spinning whirled down with a heavy sigh and the light faded. 

“Perfect—now we can get into the arm without either of us getting electrocuted or vaporized.”

“Vaporized!?”

Bucky couldn’t help but half-smile a little. “All right—now, I could feel some give. It looks like two of the inner braces are broken and—“ he moved two fingers, observing the movements in his arm, “—and two of the central gear shafts.”

“Captain America did a number on you, huh?”

Bucky paused in testing his fingers and looked at Victor. “……yeah,” he said softly, looking back down.

“I’m sorry,” Victor said. “I…I just—do you remember anything about him yet?”

“Bits and pieces,” Bucky said roughly. “Sometimes it’s hard to know what’s real and what isn’t.”

Victor went quiet then, getting a soldering gun and some parts from the storage room. Slowly, carefully, he got to work. Of course, he’d never worked on something like this. But, Victor slowly managed to take apart two of the support rods and one of the inner shells of the arm. He replaced what he could and soldered what he could not. He replaced four core wires under the power module that had fried at some point. He recoated the whole thing in coolant gel—like what went between a CPU and its fan. Three circuits were blown apart—Victor couldn’t fix those with what he had on hand. He soldered them as best he could and cleaned them up. Victor opened up the shoulder panel and replaced more scorched wires there and removed a chunk of steel that was jammed into the gears. That had probably been what was grinding the shoulder into Bucky’s side. 

“Your side is looking better—Jeremiah cleaned out a lot of dead flesh. It’s healing pretty well.”

Bucky nodded. His head was starting to throb behind his left eye.

 

 

 

The doctors crowded around him, speaking in frantic Russian, German and English. 

“Turn off the machine! Turn it off!”

“What’s happening—!”

“His left eye is starting to hemorrhage. Turn it off—get that pin out.” Obusev, his lead physician, slumped down into his chair while his two assistants held Barnes down and removed the pin. 

Bucky groaned, his left eye swelling, filling with blood.

“We won’t be able to reach the frontal lobe this way. We have to come up with something else,” said one of the assistants, Yaminaka. “His will isn’t breaking with the usual tactics. Maybe we should try something different.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Well, he can regrow teeth that have been knocked out—his bones mend in just a day or two. Maybe we can restrict his bloodflow, fracture his skull and cut out—“

“No—that’s too risky.”

“We could try it on the failures first before attempting it with him—but they won’t heal like he does.”

“No. Zola will have all of us killed if he dies.”

“Then what about a shock,” said the other assistant, crossing her arms. “Put him in the room with the failures and the corpses.” She looked down at Bucky. Her eyes were pitiless. “Break him.”

“Using the dead?”

“And those we will kill if he doesn’t.”

“I’m not sure I have the stomach for that,” said Obusev.

The woman’s lips thinned. “We have people for that.”

Yaminaka mused above him. “What if we could somehow replicate his emotional reactions to these things and then place a chip at the base of his skull.” Yaminaka grabbed his hair, moving him like a ragdoll. “And when he exhibits behaviors we don’t approve of--we force him to relive those emotions.”

Obusev and Mieje both raised their eyebrows. Mieje nodded. “That could work,” she said softly. “Let’s try it.”

Bucky remembered intense itching at the base of his skull but he was handcuffed to a radiator pipe. The other prisoners—he was forced to watch their torment, their screaming, their blood and pain. He felt sick, horrified, shaking—and when he tried to retreat into himself. To shell himself off and away—the base of his skull would burn and suddenly, he would feel it fresh and intense. His mind had no way to protect itself now. Now he would be forced out, aware of all things at all moments. Aware of all the screaming—the screaming. That was what he hated the most—the screaming--

 

 

 

“James!” 

Bucky stiffened and became aware again—flesh fist was curled into Victor’s shirt. He let go like the shirt had burned him. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Victor finished up, closing his arm silently. “I…um—I’m going to go check on Olivia. She’s been getting rid of bodies all day….I’ll be right back.”

Bucky nodded, watching the young man disappear. Bucky rocked back and forth gently in his chair while his arm rebooted and realigned itself with him. 

Victor returned in record time. So quickly that Bucky sat up straighter, examining his face. “What’s wrong?”

“I—could you—something is wrong….”

Bucky stood up. “Stay here.”

 

 

 

Olivia dry-heaved twice but she was rather proud of herself for not throwing up. There were 53 bodies down here and she was the only one alive. The stink was pretty horrendous. Stripping them made it worse. She had not quite realized just what happens when a human dies. Turns out—it was pretty similar to a cow, a horse, or a dog. Blood and shit were everywhere. She finally had to take out her phone and turn on some music to distract herself. 

Looking at their faces made it weird. Thinking of them as people instead of Hydra goons made her retreat to a scary place in her mind where she wasn’t sure who the good guys were anymore. Like getting to a point in Assassin’s Creed where you weren’t sure if the Templars were the real bad guys or not. 

Several of the corpses had young faces. Maybe not even older than her. It seemed almost like a religion. A religious cult. Was SHIELD that different? Maybe she should read through those files again. 

There were five women, all of them were in Hydra tactical gear. The other forty-seven were men. Forty-five goons and the two scientists. One at a time, she drug a body over by the drain. She took off their helmets and masks. Then the utility belts and weapons. Then the body armor. Most of them wore something comfortable and soft underneath. They all had unusual dog tags secured to the inside of their boots. Olivia looked at them a long moment before she set them aside too. It seemed disrespectful to burn them, even if they were Hydra. 

Then she heaved them up onto the conveyor belt and pressed the big blue button. The belt would begin to churn and it would drag the body into the machine, like a ribbed, black tongue. The smell of burnt flesh was only marginally preferable to shit. But still. She’d take it. 

It took her all day to get through the corpses. 

She separated the women’s gear from the men’s so she could take some for herself. Not that there was anything lined up to indicate she might need it—but you never knew, right? It seemed like a good idea, anyway.

The last body was one of the men. Like the others, she stripped him but before she heaved him up to the conveyor, she paused. She looked at him. Her fingers were tingling, so was her neck. 

A real, human corpse. Just sitting here. Doing nothing. It had once been a person. Now it was just a bag of rotting meat. Maybe it was the knowledge that some of these people--maybe even this man--had died alone and unloved but Olivia felt a strange sort of numbness come over her. She poked his abdomen, reflexively looking to his face for a reaction. Of course, there was nothing. She took out her knife, traced it slowly over his skin….and stabbed him. Nothing. He did not move. 

Olivia felt her breathing crack, something in her perking up. She slashed his stomach open, surprised at how she had to repeat the action to get to the organ. In movies—skin always seemed like silk. She had to put more pressure than she’d expected. Like any animal. Like skinning a pig. Just pigs. Pigs for the belt. Pigs for the burning. Pigs for the machine.

And then she was gutting him, like she’d gutted deer. Looking inside and seeing what was the same, what was different? Was there something inside that made him join Hydra? Did he have extra organs? Nope. Perfectly normal-looking human body with perfectly normal organs. 

And yet, so delicate. The skin took more pressure to get through than she expected—but the organs were still so delicate. She grabbed his stomach. It was rubbery, like calamari. She squished it in her fingers, watching blood and bile and some bits of half-digested food come out. Somehow, that was the thing that made her jerk back, standing up and throwing the stomach into the fire, watching the fleshy bits turn black as night. She stayed standing and looked at her hands. She was soaked in blood up to her elbows. Her clothes were covered in it. It was hard to see, and she felt a bit faint. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself from kneeling again, picking up the knife again and slitting his throat—just to see how difficult it was. 

It wasn’t. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Easy as pie. 

She cut off his ears and scooped out his eyes with her fingers. She took one of his hands to see how much strength it took to break the bones. What if she had a hammer? She found one to find out. Blood shot out of an artery when she sliced it open and grabbed it. It sprayed her face and her neck. She flinched, looking down at the concrete. The sound seemed to be in a vacuum. She couldn’t hear anything except her own breathing. Like a humming in her mind--a pure strange tone that wavered the longer it went--

What did it look like when she shot a person?

She stood up and took one of the handguns. She stepped back, in case of a ricochet, pointed the gun and fired. It was deafening in the small room. She approached, gazing at the man’s destroyed head. How the top of it was now splattered in a pretty fan-shaped red arch above his mangled lower jaw. 

She bit her lip, swallowed hard. What about his torso? All those organs in there. All those guts. She pointed the gun again, her finger hot and slick on the trigger with blood—

And then she felt a gentle touch on her shoulder, cupping the side of her neck. Another touch sliding down her arm to the gun, curling around her hand. She looked down, watching metal fingers flick the safety on and gently remove her own. The gun fell to the ground. Her hands shook. She felt the calloused, warm palm move from her shoulder to gently cover her eyes and pull her back. 

She went back, step by step.

“It’s all right,” came his voice, rumbling close by her ear. “It’s all right, Olivia.”

He didn’t remove his hand from her eyes until he walked her to a bench in the adjoining storage room. He didn’t say anything else, he sat and simply pulled her to his shoulder and let her see again. The storage room was dark and mostly empty. She sat on the bench beside Bucky and leaned on his shoulder, breathing hard.

“I….I don’t know why I—I didn’t mean to—“

“It’s all right,” he murmured to her again. “It’s not that uncommon when faced with a large amount of dead for the first time. Some people can’t help their curiosity.”

“I….felt numb and weird…”

“Yeah—we feel guilty because it feels animalistic and carnal. And it is. Because humans are animals too.”

“Did you ever—“

“Yes,” he said softly. “A time or two...” 

 

 

 

Steve arrived at night. He opened up the door of his rented vehicle. Natasha got out the passenger side. 

“Looks like the place has seen better days,” she said.

Steve frowned. “Weird that all the lights are out, isn’t it? This is a motel.” He looked at the dossier. “The Treble Inn, owned by Olivia Major—age twenty-eight—and Victor Major—age twenty-five.”

“Married?”

“Siblings. Parents died about six years ago.”

Natasha pulled out her phone. “Well, let’s say hello to our old pal Rumlow, then.” She pressed a button.

Inside room 102, Rumlow’s data tablet suddenly turned on. It beeped.

Outside, Natasha pointed with her phone. “It’s in there. We can remote hack it when we’re this close.”

Steve took the shield out from the car, sliding over his arm. He approached the door in his blue jeans and jacket, glancing around again. The quiet and the darkness were unsettling him. He knocked.

No answer.

He glanced back at Natasha, who had one of her handguns out, peering around. She shrugged.

Steve took a step back and kicked the door in. It slammed open and Steve burst in but—

Natasha followed him when she saw him stop. 

“He’s not here. No one’s here.” Steve flipped on the lights. “But he was recently.”

Natasha picked up the data tablet. “This is Rumlow’s all right. Look, it’s got that awful Tapioca recipe he liked.”

“Eh, he was a jerk—but I like Tapioca.”

Natasha looked disgusted with him. “God, why do we hang out?”

Steve chuckled. “Well—in any case. He was here recently. Razor, dark brown hair, bandages—so he’s injured. I wonder if he did something to the owners.”

“Rumlow always was a people person.”

Steve rolled his eyes at her. Searching the rest of the motel room turned up nothing else. Just clothes, a backpack but, strangely, no gear and no guns, no weapons at all. “Something isn’t right here….let's go see if the owners are home.”

Natasha turned off the lights and Steve closed the door. The entry doors to the lobby were locked. Natasha got it open with a pick and the two entered. 

“Hallo!” Steve called out. 

There was no answer. Steve and Natasha exchanged looks before he hopped over the back counter and broke the door knob. Gently, he pushed the door open—revealing the living quarters of the owners. Still. It was silent and dark. There was blood on the floor in the kitchen—just a few drops. More in the bathroom. Some blood-soaked towels were balled up in the garbage. 

Natasha picked up some bandages and sniffed them. “Infection—he must be hurt pretty bad.”

“The bedrooms are empty—but they look used. And there are dishes in the sink.”

There was a crunch of gravel, both of them froze. 

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “Someone’s here. It might be them!” She dashed over to the hall closet. Steve followed her. They crammed themselves in and listened.


	8. Way That You Cheer and Scream for Me

Bucky would guess he had about ninety percent of his functionality back. For a patch job, Victor had done well. The young man was bright, ambitious—he’d do well in a city. Wasted out here in the Indiana backwoods. He wasn’t as laid back as Howard was ( _Howard…._ ) but few people were. Bucky looked out the window as Victor pulled them in to the parking lot of the motel. He needed a shower. So did Olivia—she smelled like dead bodies and burnt flesh. She was sitting in the backseat, looking a bit numb and hollow-eyed and softly murmuring to herself again ( _The way that you cheer and scream for me....turn the lights on...._ ).

Victor turned off the car but before he could step out—Bucky reached out and grabbed his shirt. “Wait.”

Victor looked at him, Olivia paused in reaching for the door knob. 

“What is it?” Victor said quietly.

The air seemed to become very still. Bucky felt a prickling on the back of his neck. “There’s a car at the end of the lot. Someone’s here.”

“I locked the lobby doors,” Victor said.

“Your door is open,” Olivia said quietly. She reached for one of the Hydra rifles and opened up the door, stepping out onto the gravel. 

Bucky released Victor and opened his door, fingers brushing his handgun. He walked over to room 102 while Olivia stayed behind him and to the right—as he’d shown her. Bucky touched the door. “It was kicked in,” he murmured.

“So we missed a couple goons somewhere?”

“And they doubled-back to try and find us here,” Bucky agreed. He opened the door with the toe of his boot. But it was silent and dark and empty. Nothing was stolen—though he could see the contents of his room were disturbed. He turned around and went to the lobby doors. Victor was lingering by the car. He dug for the keys but Bucky wasn’t paying attention. He confirmed what he already suspected. The door was unlocked. Odd that they’d bothered picking the lock when they could have just broken the glass. He got that prickling on his neck again. Something wasn’t right—but not how he’d thought. 

He entered the lobby first. Olivia followed him, gun to her shoulder. Victor slipped in behind them, moving along the wall to jump over the back counter. Bucky raised a hand to keep him from approaching the door. Nothing in the lobby was disturbed—except the door into the living area. The knob was broken—it looked like it had been crushed. Something big then. Strong. With maybe three or four others? As what, handlers? It would be easy for Bucky himself to break a doorknob—but most people weren’t like him. Maybe it was some kind of robotic. Like—

_Kill him! Kill him!_

_Accept his death._

_Kill him! Kill him!_

_Close his eyes against the wall. No one was coming back. The Mission was more important. It was his time. Ride this train all the way home._

_Steve—I had him on the ropes._

_I know you did._

_Fire again! Kill him! Now!_

_Grab the Shield, move in front of Steve—Steve—!_

_Screaming. Screaming into the cold. Screaming into the dark._

He blinked a little and then he opened the door. The living quarters were dark, quiet. He walked, hands at his sides, eyes scanning. The plating in his arm rippled. 

Olivia followed him from a careful distance. Victor slid in behind her to turn on the lights. 

The Winter Soldier glanced back, meeting Olivia’s eyes. She nodded. “Who’s there!” she called out. “We know you’re here. Come out.”

No answer. Silence. 

Bucky stalked forward. He could feel it on the back of his neck. He could feel it everywhere. He grabbed the closet hallway door. At the same time he wrenched it open—someone came barreling out. The attacker smashed into him and the two went rolling. 

Behind them, Olivia fired a shot into the floor, making the second person whirl around to face her, raising her own gun—

“Oh shit,” Victor said, realizing.

Bucky slammed the man into the wall, pulled back his fist and—

_Bucky?_

_Who the hell is Bucky?_

“Steve,” it fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. 

Steve’s big shoulders relaxed instantly. “….B-Bucky.” All at once, his breath shortened. “Bucky. Shit, Bucky—we thought you were Rumlow.” He grabbed him. “Bucky.”

Bucky froze in Steve’s grip. Everything was grinding to a halt, unable to process.

Steve pulled back and looked at him. “Shit, are you okay?” He started checking him, looking him over. “What are you doing out here?”

Natasha lowered her weapon and flipped the lights on. 

Olivia exchanged a look with Victor before lowering her rifle. “That’s….”

“Black Widow,” Victor murmured. “…..and Captain America…..” 

Olivia swallowed hard. “I think I really am gonna be sick.”

Bucky suddenly felt lost. The big man from the bridge. The man who called him _Bucky_ , who lit the lighthouse in the fog of his memory. _Steve Rogers._ He was looking at all the blood on him. 

“Bucky—did someone attack you?”

Bucky was looking down, twitching a little. He seemed unsure of how to answer.

“We, um—we found a Hydra base,” came a small voice. “Um. There was a….a fight. Uh. Sir.” 

Steve looked over at Olivia and then Victor. “Are you the owners?”

Victor nodded. 

“You attacked a Hydra base?” Steve said, exasperated, looking back at Bucky. 

Bucky still couldn’t seem to answer. He floundered, opening his mouth and then closing it.

“His—his arm was…it was messed up. He needed tools to fix it. It was the only place that had what he needed….”

“Jesus, Bucky. If they’d taken you….” Steve took a deep breath. “What’s done is done—is all this blood not yours then?”

Bucky nodded and then managed gruffly, “Not mine.”

“And all the blood on her?” He nodded towards the civilians.

Bucky nodded stiffly. “Not….hers.”

“Bucky…” Steve said softly. “Bucky…you…I was really worried about you, you idiot.” He embraced him again, roughly. 

Beyond them, Natasha was in the kitchen looking through the cupboards. “Hey—you got coffee?”

Victor started a bit. “Um, yes. Um. Ma’am.”

Natasha laughed a little and beckoned to Victor with a finger. “Come show me. And call me Natasha.”

Victor hesitated and then went to her. 

Olivia wasn’t sure what to do. She laid down the Hydra rifle on the table. “Um—er…Captain Rogers?”

Steve looked over his shoulder at her. 

“Um—if you want to talk to him in private—uh—I can put you in a room….they’re all vacant…except for Bucky’s.”

Steve nodded, distracted. “Oh, yeah—that’d be great. Thank you so much. I’ll pay for new doors.”

“Okay…” She got up and went into the lobby to get the key for room 103. Bucky followed her. She turned to him, pressing the key into his hand and searching his face. He looked haunted again and gaunt. He looked like he was about five feet from running again. But his eyes hardened when he looked at the key and took a deep breath. “Bucky….?”

He nodded silently and looked up when Steve came through the door. Captain America gently put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and together, the two walked outside, turning left to go to room 103 together. 

Natasha was leaning against the counter, watching the young man stammer and try furtively to look at her, while trying not to be obvious that he was looking. It was sort of cute, really. Men never knew what to say to her. What she did and who she hung with was so completely beyond their element—they didn’t mind feeling like wimps in front of guys like Thor or Cap. But for Natasha to make them feel like wimps seemed to throw most men off. The guys—Cap, Clint, Thor, Tony—all of them—had scores of female (and gay male) admirers. But for Natasha—well, the internet had let her know that men were glad to sexualize her—but not really _admire_ her. It was a tough dating scene for Russian assassin Black Widow. Not that she really had _boyfriends_. The thought made her snicker a little. In any case, dating sucked. And she was still keeping her ears open for Bruce. The internet had come up with several nicknames for them (she liked _Nanners_ )—her and Bruce….and her and every other member of the team (America’s favorite Cold War power couple, Caperoff. In Soviet Russia, you strike with Thundroff. Assassin BFFs: BlackEye [though Clint liked HawkWidow]. Satasha for her and Sam (because Black Falcon was too obvious, she supposed dryly). Even Winter Widow, which she preferred because Natucky sounded like Kentucky’s even more redneck great aunt. Scarlet Widow was another—how did people find out all this stuff. Oh right, releasing all that information on the internet. 

Finding fanfiction about yourself is a deeply humbling and disturbing experience. She stopped poking around after that.

She wondered where Bruce was. But then, she wondered that almost every day. She was prepared for him not to return. To have to harden her heart again and accept it, again. Part of her already had—but maybe, just maybe, he’d come back. 

Anyway, this guy Victor was the only one of the three not covered in blood so she could assume that he was the brainy one—or at least not a field operative. She watched the woman enter the living room again. “So, tell me about this place. When did Bucky get here?”

The blood was dry on the woman. Natasha could see it beginning to crackle on her skin and clothes.

 

“Bucky…we can take you with us. We’ll take you to New York—to the Avengers compound. We have one of those now. We can keep you safe there and get you a new arm. We can get this fixed.”

Bucky and Steve were sitting at the small table under the window of the little room. He was still having a hard time catching up—he hadn’t been prepared for this. Enemies, yes. Hydra, yes. Steve….no. His gut was churning. 

“Bucky…..?” 

Bucky looked at him, at his earnest face and his blue eyes. “Steve…” he said softly again, as if he’d just noticed him.

“Yeah…?” Steve asked, voice dropping unconsciously to something soft, soothing. 

Absently, Bucky pawed at his shirt, blood flaking off. He took a couple deep breaths, trying to settle his stomach. “Steve…I….remember…..” he shook his head, swallowing hard.

Steve put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. It’ll come with time…”

There was nothing else for it—now that they were face to face again, Bucky couldn’t run. “I…did a lot of terrible things.”

Steve’s lips thinned. “Hydra, Bucky. Not you. I know you. I know what kind of guy you are. Hydra. Not you.”

Bucky looked at him under the fringe of his hair.

“We can have a plane out here tomorrow to take you home.”

Something flickered across Bucky’s face. “….you should see the base first. And those two—they helped me.”

“Okay—we can go tomorrow.” He glanced at the window and then back. “Who’s the girl—she military?”

“No. Civilian. She…wanted to help. The guy—her brother—he’s an engineer.”

Steve hesitated. “You want to…..ask them to come with us?”

Bucky frowned and looked down. He shook his head but he shrugged. “I….I dunno. Olivia….doesn’t want to be a gardener forever. And there’s nothing out here for an engineer.” He glanced up, meeting Steve’s eyes.

_I should be going._

_You’re really gonna do this again?_

_I’m gonna try my luck._

_As who? Steve from Ohio? They’ll catch you—or worse, they’ll actually take you._

_What do you want me to do—collect scrap in my little red wagon?_

_Yes!_

_I don’t wanna sit in a factory, Bucky—Bucky!_

 

Steve blinked a little, understanding suddenly. He half-smiled. “That’s the Bucky I know. Learned from last time when I refused to take no for an answer, eh?” His large, rough palm was cupping the side of Bucky’s neck. He pulled his friend to him, embraced him again. “I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, muffling it in his borrowed shirt. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I tried to save you. I tried to—but—“

Bucky flinched a little and started to shake his head.

“No—I just—have to say it. I’m sorry. I wanted to save you. I tried. I really tried. I was going to go back after Red Skull was dead and keep looking—but then I had to put the ship in the ice. I don’t believe in God anymore—but it’s gotta mean something, Buck. That we’re back here again.”

“I should have died,” Bucky said softly. “I did so many terrible things—”

Steve felt his shoulders curl in and so he hauled his friend closer, put a hand in his hair and let him shake silently.


	9. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The manipulation and Dr Faustus is a reference to a character introduced in the Agent Carter miniseries--which is totally awesome and folks should see it if they haven't. Ivchenko is the Marvel Cinematic Universe's version of Dr Faustus (Fenhoff). 
> 
> The references to the girls being handcuffed was also introduced in Agent Carter--in an episode about the Red Room when Peg and the Commandos go to Russia. Seriously, if you haven't seen Agent Carter--its amazing. I thought it was far, far better written than Agents of Shield.

The Matron inclined her head to him. “Winter Soldier. It is an honor to have you here among us to assist in training the operatives.”

The Winter Soldier watched her with his cold, steady eyes.

She did not look perturbed by that. She was wary of him—everyone was, of course—but she wasn’t afraid.

“Do you remember training the girls?” asked his handler, a doctor called Ivan Provinski.

The Winter Soldier nodded.

The Matron turned to lead them to the common sleeping area. It was already dark. The girls were just filing back in from a long day of outdoor survival training. The matron swept into the room. All the girls went silent and stiff, backs straight.

“We are very lucky tonight,” said the Matron. “The Winter Soldier has been dispatched to train you for the next three months.”

The girls were silent, simply observing her.

She turned to the open door and gestured for him to come forward. He did not wear the muzzle when he was training operatives. The girls only moved their heads, looking at him.

“Training will begin tomorrow,” the matron said. “But the Winter Soldier may begin tonight. Disobedience will be punished at his discretion.”

 _Death,_ all the girls heard.

The Matron inclined her head to the Winter Soldier again. She turned on her heel and strode out. Provinski hesitated and then followed her.

“He will really remember training them?”

“Oh yes. Every time he has been sent—they let him remember training the girls. He’s very harsh with them.”

“Has he ever killed one?”

“He’s never had to.”

 

The Winter Soldier looked over the solemn, still faces of about two dozen girls. He reached over and locked the dormitory door. Some of them shifted, struggling not to fidget under his cold gaze. They all appeared to be between the ages of seven and thirteen. He tilted his ear and then said, “It sounds like she’s gone.”

And then they broke face. He found himself surrounded by the girls, now smiling and chattering.

“Big Brother James, we missed you!”

“You haven’t been back in so long! How is your arm?”

“Did you meet any pretty lady assassins?”

“Will you take us on a real hit this time?”

“I broke Nieva’s neck in training!”

“I learned how to use a pole-arm, James! Do you want to see?!”

James sat down on one of the beds, letting the girls crowd around him and look at his arm and examine him for new scars. Little Anya rubbed his scruff-roughened face and chastised him for not having a beard. Raisa flexed her slender arms to compare her muscles to his. Tatyana did a backflip and then walked on her hands back over to him, where he stood and grabbed her ankle, lifting her up above the other girls’ heads, making them giggle quietly.

He felt her shift. Felt her stiffen and brace her leg and ankle that he was holding and she took a little swing and then flipped herself up. He caught her around the waist when she flipped up—but she’d grabbed onto his shoulder to steady herself.

“You are stronger than you were last time,” he said to her.

She beamed at him, happy he remembered her.

He sat down again, letting Tatyana sit on his knee with tiny Marfushka—the youngest of the girls. He told them about his latest mission—a political assassination in South America. He had gone straight from Argentina to Russia—no time for them to wipe him. They sat around him, enraptured by the stories of their hero. Their Big Brother. Their James.

Their faces always twinged something in his memory. Something familiar. Another young girl, looking at him with affection, even love, gasping at all the right places at his stories. But whenever he tried to chase that memory, it would fade away.

_Becca…_

When he handcuffed them to their beds at night—he never did it too tight. He didn’t like to see blood on their wrists. They would have plenty on them during their lives—he did not like to inflict it at home (ha, home). Not here, where they slept. The only semi-safe place for them, as it were. There was no mercy, even here, where they trained.

Their Big Sisters—girls between the ages of fourteen and eighteen—were kept in a separate area of the compound. He would likely be dividing his time between the two groups. Or occasionally, when an older young lady was showing particular promise, she would be dispatched alone with him to go on a mission, so he could evaluate her strengths and weaknesses.

  
Sometimes, even with the elder girls, he had small, brotherly moments. Reaching out, touching one’s hair. Opening his mouth to say her name (Sofia) but something else came out instead.

( _Becca…_ )

Becca…..

 

His eyes jerked open. He sat up. A foot away, sitting at the tiny table under the window, Steve jumped in his chair. “Bucky? You okay?”

Bucky shuddered, panting for breath. “I…yes….” He looked away.

 

The next morning, Bucky wandered outside. The mist was thick as cream, blanketing the surrounding countryside. It made the whole place feel secretive, like a little island of peace.

Olivia was in the garden again, sitting on her knees. She appeared to be weeding—though the slump of her shoulders was different, tilted, tense. He walked over to her and observed that her face was gaunt and hollow. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She glanced up at him and then back down. “Hey Buck,” she said.

Bucky watched her for a moment. “Can’t sleep?”

Her eyes came back up and then stayed on his face. “…..no.” She looked back down.

“Bad dreams.” It wasn’t a question.

She swallowed hard. “….I keep….seeing that last guy. The one I…I went all weird with. He—I open up his guts and then suddenly he sits up and he says to me, he says, _what are you doing_ and I don’t know how to answer. I smear his blood on me and he says it again, _what are you doing_ and I just stare at him.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “How about some exercise?”

She looked up at him. “….okay.” She stood up, brushing the dirt off her hands.

“Find that helps me when I can’t…dream.”

“Bucky—do you think I could be like you—I mean, I dunno—do something where I could have the stamina and healing like you and Captain Rogers?”

Bucky did a slight double-take. “…..no.”

She went silent, lips thinning. She looked conflicted, somewhere between sad and angry.

Bucky continued to watch her. “A lot of people have tried.”

And failed.

 

 

Natasha was exploring the living area of the siblings. She was giggling as she found Steve in the kitchen. “Okay, so, the guy—Victor—he has _posters_ of me in his room.”

Steve choked on his coffee. “Wh—really?”

“Yeah, I didn’t even know that was a thing. They’re really well made.”

“Are they, like, on his walls or above his bed?”

Natasha burst out laughing, burying her face in Steve’s sleeve before resurfacing. “In his closet—all hidden like he’s ashamed.”

“Aw, poor guy.”

“If he had his sister’s temperament, he’d made a good field agent. He’s definitely better looking.”

Steve huffed a little. “Well—he seems more the science-y type. Nothing wrong with that.”

“I know, I know, but still. I opened up his closet and there I was, staring back. Big pouty lips and everything. But the hair was different in each one. Slightly different reds. And in the oldest one---haha—I had this ridiculously long, curly hair. Stupid!”

“You know….Bucky wants to take them with us.”

Natasha blinked, whole face stilling. “What? Why?”

“I dunno—he’s been training the girl. I think he feels sorry for them.”

“He’s training, huh?” Natasha mused and went over to the window, hands on her hips to look out into the garden. “….interesting.”

Steve’s head tilted. “What is it?”

“He used to train operatives in the Red Room.”

“The Red Room—“

“Yeah. All girls. All female operatives. He trained girls between the ages of seven and eighteen. He even took a few of them out on their first assignments.” Natasha cupped her chin. “They used to call him Big Brother James….” She absently shifted, taking her left wrist in her hand, rubbing it. Sometimes she could still feel the cold handcuff at night. “I wonder if he remembers that subconsciously.”

Natasha watched him pick up Olivia—throw her. How she flipped over back onto her front to hop up and meet him when he rushed her.

Steve looked out too. “Maybe they reminded him of Becca.”

“Wasn’t that his younger sister?”

“Yeah…” Steve looked down. “Yeah.”

Natasha touched his arm. “Well, let’s do it then.”

“He wants to clean up at the base first. We should see if there’s any data we can get.”

So after Bucky finished beating the snot out of Olivia (again), the five of them set out for the Hydra compound. Bucky led them to the mausoleum and took them into the base. The blood was mostly gone but the stench of burnt flesh and sulfur remained. Olivia wandered away from them to go into the disposal chamber. She hummed to herself. _(And I think to myself, what a wonderful world_ )

Bucky went into the research lab. Natasha went to the computers to see what she could get out of them. Steve crossed his arms, watching her and then Victor as he helped Bucky set up the diagnostic scanners to check his arm again.

Steve eyed the screens, wrinkling his nose at the blood stains. His fingers twitched at his hip, fingering the cold edge of his shield. He licked his upper lip, tasting the air. Something seemed…metallic. Normally, he would assume it was the blood but…

Steve got a faint prickling on the back of his neck. He looked around again.

“What is it?” Natasha asked, recognizing his expression. “Something wrong?”

Steve shifted his stance. “I don’t think we’re alone here.”

Natasha left the computer console, going to Bucky’s side. Victor was quick to get the readout from the diagnostics. “Are the security cameras still functional?”

Bucky pointed to another of the monitors.

Steve went to it and flipped on the cameras in the collection room. He started. “What the—Tony! Why is Stark here?”

“Stark?” Natasha repeated. “Why the hell would he be here?”

“I dunno—“ Steve stopped cold. No. Not Stark. Not Tony, anyway. The man on the screen was…Howard. No. Steve looked down, blinking hard and then looking back at it. “Natasha, come—“ he turned around.

But everyone was gone.

He was alone in the laboratory. He froze. “Natasha? Bucky?”

Silence.

He looked back at the camera feed. Howard Stark looked back. Staring at him.

“….Howard?”

“She had the last vial, you know?” Howard said to the camera.

“What?”

Howard walked away and Steve turned towards the door. _This isn’t Wanda. She’s in New York. She’s one of us. This isn’t happening. This isn’t real. It’s not real. It’s not real._

Howard came through the laboratory door. “Steve…I didn’t know, you know. I didn’t find out until a long time later. She had the last vial.”

“What vial?”

“Your blood, Steve. She had the last one.”

“….Peg?” he asked.

“Yeah. She threw it away.” Howard sighed. “She should have at least let me keep part of it. I could have saved it for Anthony to work on.”

“I gave them more. Shield—when they unfroze me. I gave them more.”

“Oh. Shield did, huh?” Howard said, smirking in that cocky way of his. “I wonder where that stock went after Shield was compromised.”

Steve frowned. “I don’t know….it could be anywhere.”

“It could be anywhere…” Howard turned around.

There was a chair behind him. The decore and machines told Steve this was a different chair in a different time. But not just any chair. But a Chair. The Chair.

“Bucky….”

His friend was strapped down. His old clothes were rags. He was crying.

Howard looked back at Steve. “Ugly things happened to Barnes. He cried when they weren’t around. He saw things a man should never see. He did things a man should never do.”

“It’s not his fault.”

“I know. It’s Hydra’s. It’s yours. It’s Peg’s. It’s Zola’s. It’s Doctor Faustus.”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “Who? Faustus?”

“Yeah,” Howard said, half-smiling. “I’m pretty smart but he even got me.”

A balding man came in behind Howard, approaching the chair. Steve started forward—but Howard held up an arm to stop him. For some reason, Steve did. He watched Faustus approach Bucky, who was glaring, hateful now. His eyes rolling. His hair long and ragged and wild.

“Soft, Mister Barnes,” said the man, quietly, soothing. “It’s all right. Just look at me. You must focus, Mister Barnes. Focus.”

Bucky twitched, as if trying to jerk back or look away.

“Focus, James. Listen to my voice. You must have things that you miss. It is very hard here for you, I know. How you must miss New York and your friend, Captain Rogers.”

Bucky jerked against the restraints, breath hissing through his teeth. “Fuck you!”

“You have so much spirit,” said the man, with such sincerity and admiration that Bucky stilled, suspicious.

“Peg found him in Russia,” Howard said quietly. “It was game-over once Hydra found him and took him to Bucky Barnes. Once he gets into your head—there’s no getting him out.”

Steve closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “Where am I? Am I still in the laboratory? Natasha. Bucky.”

“You’re with them right now,” Howard said.

And when Steve opened his eyes—he found it to be true. He was there with them. But Bucky was gone—the Winter Soldier stood in his place, in his body armor. A little girl stood in front of him, looking up at him. Her hair was wild and red.

“Big brother James,” said the little girl. “Will you teach me to be silent?”

The Winter Soldier’s eyes did not waver. “It will be painful,” he said, monotone, rough.

“I know,” said the girl. “I want to be better than the others. Nastya had both her arms broken today. They took her to the back Room. Which means she’s dead now. I heard them talking. She was made part of a graduation test. They put the bag over her head and a Big Sister shot her. I don’t want that to be me.”

The Winter Soldier observed the child. “Do as I say, and it won’t be.”

Steve closed his eyes again. “What is happening? Wanda isn’t here. She’s one of us now. What is happening? Howard.”

Faintly, he heard screaming.

Steve opened his eyes, looking behind him.

“It’s all right, Steve. It’s all right.”

“No. Something’s wrong—“

“Breath in deep, Steve Rogers. Breath in—“

Steve grabbed Howard by the throat and slammed him down onto the countertop.

“Steve!”

“You’re dead. You’ve been dead for over twenty years. Get out of my head. Get out. Get out!”

Howard half-smirked again. “You’ve been dead for seventy.”

Steve breathed in sharply and he crushed Howard’s windpipe. Easy as cracking eggs. The skull shattered, the eyes bubbled out of his sockets. His skin and handsome face collapsed. Blood burst from his throat in horrible little _plopping_ sounds.

And then silence.

Steve listened for a few moments, only hearing his own breathing. He stood up straight and looked around.

Howard’s corpse was gone. The Chair was gone. The Winter Soldier was gone.

Natasha was slumped against the wall. Her eyes were too open. Too wide and too white.

Victor wasn’t much better. He had his face buried in his knees, shaking.

Bucky was standing across the room, a gun trained on a middle-aged woman. “You remember me, James. Lisa Sebasilla. I headed the DC program. You remember me, don’t you? You’ve been out of stasis for a long time, James. It’s time you came home. Do you remember home, James? With Becca and Rob and Joseph. Winifred and George. New York City. Come along, James. It’s time to come home.”

Home…

It was written in blood on the wall.

Home…

“James…focus on me, James. It’s time to go Home.”

Bucky’s hand was shaking. He was trying, truly trying to pull the trigger. But he couldn’t seem to.

“James…don’t you want to go Home?”

Steve grabbed his shield and threw it. When it hit, it shattered her neck and spine—or would have if Bucky hadn’t propelled himself forward. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from grabbing it mid-air. He breathed hard and fast, glaring at the woman, hating her. But some part of him was helpless to obey.

“Good work, James,” she said, smiling so gently, touching his flesh arm. “You are such a good boy. Good and strong and loyal.”

“Bucky!” Steve dashed forward as Bucky raised the shield. But Bucky didn’t move to strike; he held it up only to block Steve.

“James,” she said, slowly, as if savoring the syllables and sounds in that name. “James, there is no Bucky.” She said his nickname harsh and grating. “Who is Bucky? I only know James. Focus on James.”

Steve struggled against Bucky, trying to pull the shield from him. He could see Bucky was fighting her—whatever the woman was doing. Worming her voice into his head, trying to push Bucky back out.

The door opened again—but this time, it was Olivia. Sebasilla looked unperturbed. “James,” she said gently. “Remember—these people don’t want you to go home. You have to get rid of them, James.”

“Who the fuck—“

“Olivia Major,” said Sebasilla. “I’ve heard about you. I hear you like to sing. Do you know all these people look down on you? Wouldn’t you like to sing in a better place? A place more like home? Like before your parents went to New York City and never came back. Breathe deep, Olivia. Breathe deep.”

She looked confused and yet, she took in a deep breath.

“What do you see?” Sebasilla asked.

“It’s dark,” Olivia whispered, her eyes wide and hollow.

“Good.” Then she turned back to Bucky. “James. To go home, you know what you need to do. You have to get rid of them. All four of them. You have to, to go home.”

“Home…” Bucky murmured, softly, brokenly.

“Yes. Home, James.”

“I…I want to go home….” He swallowed hard. “I wanted to go home after he saved me. But…I…”

“You didn’t because you were a good and loyal friend. No one could have had a better man at their side. You’re still a good man, James. Your work has been a wonder, a blessing to our generation. And if you do just a bit more, you’ll be able to go home.”

“Becca…”

“Yes,” the woman reached out. Steve tried to grab her hand—but Bucky snatched it before Steve could touch her. The woman smiled, gently stroking Bucky’s rough face. “Yes. You will see all of them again, James. But you can’t with these four here. You have to take care of them, James.”

Bucky still had the shield, still locked with Steve but presently, he stepped back. He dropped the shield onto the floor. “I wanna go home.”

The woman gently touched his metal arm. “Then you know what you have to do.”

“Yes,” he said. His voice became monotone, his eyes darkened.

Sebasilla glanced between Olivia and Steve and then stepped back.

Bucky felt his arm readjust, turning it, looking at Steve.

_Home_

_…build a fort with cushions like when we were kids…_

_Just a little more, James and you can go home…_

He pulled out his knife, flipping it in his metal hand, pointing at Steve—

\--and then whirling around, turning on his heel. He grabbed Lisa Sebasilla by her jacket and yanked her to him. It was almost intimate how his mouth brushed her ear and he said, “I can go home whenever I want.” He slid the knife into her ribs.

Her laugh was quiet and thick. “You only go home when Hydra says you can.”

He slit her throat.

She did not seem surprised or stunned. She lifted her wrist as her flesh peeled apart. As her neck overran with red. As the little device on her wrist, beeping fast with her heart, started to slow.

And then stopped.

The two men seemed to reach the same conclusion at the same time. Steve whirled around, grabbing his shield. Bucky grabbed Olivia by the arm and shoved her into the adjoining storage room. Steve dove over to Natasha and Victor, grabbing them both and launching himself into the storage room. Bucky grabbed him at the last couple feet, yanking him inside, slamming the door—

The explosion rocked them off their feet. Steve tried to grab them all, pulling everyone in, trying to stay above them with his shield to absorb the impact as the compound collapsed around them.


	10. Spy Versus Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dunno how they fuck people up in Soviet Russia—  
> “Yeah, you do—“  
> “—but I’d rather not take my chances. Take it as a compliment, Romanov.”  
> “He has trust issues,” Hawkeye said to her.  
> “You shut up before I trust my hand upside your head.”

Natasha saw herself standing in front of a teenage boy. He was shaking. That wasn’t a surprise, really. He’d been tied up for hours and the beating he’d sustained had gone on a lot longer. Still, he hadn’t spoken anything but lies. Information gained through torture was notoriously unreliable. He was quite good at focusing on what he _would_ say, rather than what he would not. She had watched him all day and now it was her turn. It was time for the Black Widow to slip in and go for the kill stroke. To either get what they wanted or kill him and be done with it.

She stared down at him. He looked up at her.

“One life after another,” he said, blood foaming between his teeth. “That’s what you all do. You take and you destroy. One life after another.” He didn’t sound angry. His voice was soft, resigned. “Where is the line?”

“There is no line,” Natasha responded.

“Because _they_ told you there wasn’t one?”

Had they told her that? Never in so many words, she knew.

A murmur behind her said, “They’ve been teaching it to you for years.”

She whirled around. A man was standing in the interrogation room. His face was stony, expressionless. He had that odd look about him—where it was difficult to tell exactly how old he was. The heavy brows of an older man but the sharp angles of a young one.

Natasha reached for the radio—and then stopped. He was fast. She hadn’t moved two inches and he had his bow (a _bow_ , really?) up.

“Don’t bother,” he said. “They’re already dead.”

Natasha blinked. Her eyebrows furrowed. “You killed them? All of them? With a bow?”

The man half-smirked. “Quicker than I look.”

“This facility has—“

“Thirty guards, twelve research staff, four interrogators, five all-terrain vehicles and a munitions bunker. I’m not here for them.”

“Oh,” she simpered. “Are you here for little old me?”

“Yeah. Thing is, I’ve been watching you since the other fucks left. They’re out in the hallway if you’d like to take a look. You haven’t laid a hand on this kid for an hour. You’ve just been watching him. You gonna kill him or wait for an invite?”

“Well, all bets are off now, aren’t they?”

“They don’t send a brawler to catch a spy. That’s why I’m here. You run, I’ll put an arrow in your head. Or your kneecap. Or your ribcage. It’s all the same to me—but only if you run. You walk out of here with me—maybe I can get you out of this.” He gestured to the teenager and the blood everywhere.

“Why would you do that?”

He half-shrugged. “Call me curious.”

She looked around the room and then at the boy. Then back at the man. “Well, guess I have no choice.”

The man did not lower his bow. He directed her to release the teenager, which she did. And then had her walk in front of him, the teenager beside him. The hallway was a warzone. Blood and bodies, strange arrows and scorch marks.

“Looks like you do more damage with that bow than I expected.”

“It’s old-fashioned. No one expects it.”

The man marched her outside. The bunker off by the tiny airfield was burning.

“Are we going to walk to wherever your safe house is?” Natasha asked, hands on her hips, lifting her eyebrows.

“Ha, no. My ride is on its way.”

She heard the helicopter before she saw it. Not the usual US government fair either. She glanced at the strange archer. He half-smiled at her.

A large man exited the helicopter. He was sporting an eyepatch. His skin was deep brown. He raised an eyebrow. “I sent you here for one dead assassin. Why is this entire goddamn base on fire and the only person alive in sight is the Widow and a kid?”

The archer shrugged. “You sent me. Saw more than met the eye.”

The large man eyed the archer. And then he simply nodded. “Goddamn, Hawkeye.” He glanced behind him and nodded to another man in the helicopter. “I’ll call for cleanup but we gotta go. You got a date.”

“With you?” Hawkeye asked, smiling again. “Thanks but you’re not my type, Fury.”

“You wish you were mine,” said the man. He grabbed Natasha. “You stay still—Coulson, come out here and get this kid in a transport. May as well take him with us. And cuffs for the lady.”

“Can I get them with diamonds?” Natasha asked coolly.

“We ain’t that well-funded,” Fury said, not missing a beat. “You’ll have to suffer titanium.”

“Seems a little much for just me, doesn’t it?” Natasha tried again.

“Dunno how they fuck people up in Soviet Russia—

“Yeah, you do—“

“—but I’d rather not take my chances. Take it as a compliment, Romanov.”

“He has trust issues,” Hawkeye said to her.

“You shut up before I trust my hand upside your head.”

“Is that what a Trust Fund is?” Hawkeye smirked, waiting for Natasha to be cuffed and then escorting her to the helicopter.

“That’s what a Trust Fuck You Up is,” Fury grouched.

“He’s not so bad,” Hawkeye said to Natasha as he strapped her into her seat. “He’s always grumpy when he has to be on site. Lack of coffee, I think.”

Natasha, for the first time in a long time, wasn’t sure what to say. “You’re pretty chipper for a spy.”

“He’s showing off,” Fury groused. “Thinks he’s hot shit for smoking the whole base.”

Hawkeye chuckled. “He’s not wrong.”

“His name is Barton. Clint Barton,” said another voice.

Natasha started—how had she not noticed her old Matron sitting across from her in the helicopter. Hawkeye and Fury did not notice her. In fact, Natasha suspected maybe only she saw her.

The Matron was frowning severely. “Is this how little it takes to become a traitor to the cause?”

Natasha looked aside. “I…”

“You’ve killed so many others in so many worse ways. Why was one teenage boy any different?”

Suddenly, Fury and Barton were gone. The helicopter was gone. She was sitting in a concrete room under a hot lamp. There was a young woman on her knees in front of her, dripping blood and snot and spit. Her teeth had been knocked out. Her throat was cut. Her eyes were gone. And yet her head _lifted_ and she _looked_ at Natasha and her face twisted, turning into a man, a woman, a child, a familiar little girl with dark red hair—

 

 

 

Natasha jumped, springing violently into awareness. It was pitch black and smelled musty. Someone was holding her head.

“It’s okay—ma’am—er, Natasha. It’s okay.”

Natasha sat up, reaching into her belt for a little flashlight. “What the hell happened?”

"She did something," Olivia murmured. "I felt it. It was like a...buzzing, like a shock."

With Natasha's little light, Steve was illuminated. He braced his shield against the door of the storage room and heaved, bashing a chunk of concrete away. A beam of light cascaded into the darkness.

Bucky pushed another rock away. “We need to get out of here before police show up.”

“That woman…” Victor spoke up. “….she did something to us. Got into our heads…all of us…”

“That wasn’t Wanda,” Natasha said, looking back at Steve.

“It wasn’t,” Bucky answered instead. “She was based in DC. She was head of the Hydra program there.”

“Why have we never run into someone like her before? What was that? Hypnosis?”

Bucky looked away. “Only Hydra bases with a Chair unit have people who can do that.”

Natasha went quiet, sitting down in a heap on some rubble as Steve and Bucky heaved the last chunk of debris away. The laboratory was a smoking pit, totally destroyed. Natasha rubbed her head. “How long have we been down here?”

“Not very long,” Steve answered. “I got a message out to Hill about forty-five minutes ago. She’s dispatching Sam from Chicago. He and Clint should be here in about twenty minutes. Wanda too.”

There was a low rumbling somewhere beneath them.

“The furnace,” Bucky said quietly. He slipped out of the hole he and Steve had made and peered around the dim remains of the lab. Steve stood beside the hole in the rubble and steadied the other three to help them through.

“I guess its good we packed up all that gear in the car yesterday,” Victor said quietly.

Olivia had blood streaming down her face. She wiped a glob of it away from her eye. “I can hear sirens.”

Natasha was pulling out her phone. “Clint is almost here. They should be able to take over. The press will be all over it if they find out about a Hydra base in the middle of nowhere, Indiana.”

“Guess I need a Spy Tracker app for my phone too,” Victor muttered, attempting a smile. His whole left side was one massive purpling bruise. His face was scratched and bloody. He could see that only Steve and Bucky, while dirty, appeared unscathed. Likely, that was their incredible stamina and genetic modifications. Steve had taken the brunt of the impact, after all. Natasha was bloody, covered in dust and her jacket was torn down the back. Her shirt was soaked in blood down her spine.

They heard the rumbling from the basement again. Victor swallowed nervously, trying not to fret—seeing as how Captain America, Black Widow and the Winter Soldier were not panicking. “Um…how much time do you suppose we have before that rumbling becomes a problem?” he asked quietly.

“Probably about fifteen minutes,” Natasha said absently, sending Clint a message, advising him to get the civilians away before the furnace exploded.

 

 

 

They heard it when Clint and Sam and Wanda arrived, being in their own jet. Sam was the first to break through a collapsed wall. He and Wanda came through together.

“Saving your ass again, huh, Cap?” Sam smiled and then stilled, eyes falling on Bucky. He looked back at Steve.

“Yeah, for maybe the first time,” Steve shot back, half-smiling for him. He looked back. “C’mon—Sam—this is Olivia Major and Victor Major—they’re coming with us.”

Victor bit his lip, looking at his elder sister. “I—but—the motel—“

“Field trip,” Natasha said.

Olivia didn’t say anything. She just nodded quietly and followed Steve’s direction. Sam nodded to her and pointed up the ramp he and Wanda had created.

Wanda smiled gently, nodding to Steve. Her eyes settled though, on Bucky. She could see him like a man looking in a fractured mirror. He was everywhere and nowhere. Here but not. She almost couldn’t seem to help but peek in, seeing a glimpse of a shattered mind, barely holding itself together. As always when she found such a mind, she felt a keening to reach out, to reach in, to try to sooth that mind. But this was not the time or place.

Bucky seemed to almost feel her gaze or maybe his mind had been broken into so many times that he was unconsciously aware of it when someone looked in. His face turned, meeting her eyes and staring down at her.

For a moment, it was just the two of them. Bucky and Wanda, alone in the dust and debris. All was silent, still. Bucky got a prickling on the back of his neck. Wanda looked down and turned to head back outside.

Bucky swallowed hard, not sure exactly what had happened—but his heart was beating faster and his right hand was clammy with a cold sweat. He felt unsettled. He met Steve’s eyes and then headed up.

Steve emerged last to Clint standing nearby to herd them to the waiting jet. The press was being corralled away by fire fighters. A doctor was waiting for them. She got out of the aircraft to bandage up Natasha, Olivia and Victor.

Victor jumped badly when the furnace finally went, bursting into flames and swallowing the remains of the cemetery over it.

Olivia couldn’t seem to help but chuckle. “Well, pit to hell opens—I guess no better place for it than a cemetery.”

“Olivia!” Victor said sharply. “Jesus. Shut up.”

The next explosion was bigger, louder, booming across the farmland and washing over them. It didn’t come from the destroyed base. It came from the south. Olivia closed her eyes, pressing her lips in a thin line.

Victor stood too fast. Sam was quick to grab him so he wouldn’t fall. “No…” He could see the smoke in the distance, burning black and belching into the sky. Onlookers at the cemetery cried out, pointing to the distance. “….the motel…”

“It’s gone,” Natasha confirmed, not unkindly.

“Jesus Christ,” Victor said softly. Slowly, he sat down again.

When the doctor felt they’d been adequately bandaged, they were bundled into the jet and Clint took off.

Bucky sat near the wall of the plane. Steve sat next to him. The girl, the one Steve called ‘Wanda’ was sitting across the aisle from them. She did not hide her observation of him.

“What’s with…with her?” Bucky asked quietly.

“She’s telepathic,” Steve murmured. “Can…make illusions and look inside people’s heads.”

Bucky looked down. “Feels…weird. I can feel it…when she looks in.”

“Me too,” Clint said from the front. “Maybe she can help you with your memories.” The archer glanced back. He’d never seen the Winter Soldier—but the guy certainly looked like he’d been through hell. His eyes had that wide, shattered look that he saw in his own face sometimes….especially when he had the dreams about Loki or heard the voices that weren’t there…

Wanda looked away, out the window, twisting the hems of her sleeves in her fingers.

Sam looked between them. “Just relax for now, man. Y’all probably need some sleep. We’ll be in New York in a couple hours.”

Natasha went up to sit with Clint. He exchanged a look with her. “And here you were supposed to be finding Rumlow.”

“I know, right. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones looking.”

“Maria said Steve sounded a little frazzled. Something about someone poking in your heads. What happened?”

“….not what we expected.”


	11. Matryoshka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> References to Faustus (Fenhoff) who was introduced in the Agent Carter miniseries (which is seriously awesome).

“Pietro is recovering,” Wanda said, face gentling to Clint.

The archer smiled. “Good. I know it’s been a while—and we had our moments but he saved my life. I owe him one.”

“Thank you, Mister Barton.”

“Wanda—you can call me Clint, you know? It’s okay.” He chuckled. “Hell, so long as you don’t start making up Tony-esque nicknames, you can call me whatever you want.”

“Maybe you would like to go see him, then? He is stir-crazy, as you say in English—Cabin Fever? Pent up for too long because he has accelerated healing but then he runs—and tears himself open again.”

“Figures,” Clint chuckled. “I’ll go harass him. You gonna be okay here with these clowns?”

“Yes, I will—thank you Mi—Clint.”

Clint gave her a lazy salute and started away. It was nice to see Wanda smile for once. She and her brother were so serious and sad so often—and then when Quicksilver was shot…it had nearly broken the Scarlet Witch in two. But he’d recovered and seeing them both smile was rewarding enough for all the shit that went down in Sovokia.

 

 

 

Sam stayed with the group, escorting them to the medical bay. “Wanda here is psychic. She’s going to take a look in everyone’s heads to make sure there was no lasting suggestions—like well, what happened with Ultron. So—just need you guys to relax and let Wanda do her thing.”

Bucky looked faintly alarmed. He tensed just a little and looked at Steve.

“It’ll be all right, Buck…” Steve murmured to him. “I’m gonna stay right here. Don’t worry. Wanda is with us—with me. She’s not gonna hurt you. She’s gonna take a look inside and see if she can undo the damage that they’ve done. All right?”

Bucky pressed his lips together, watching Wanda go to Victor first and take him into a small side room that served as their gear-drop station. Victor shifted uncomfortably at the intensity of her gaze. He tried to meet her eyes—but couldn’t hold it.

“Relax, Victor—I am not going to hurt you.”

Victor grabbed into his chair tightly and nodded. He looked down at his knees, taking a silent breath. He screwed his eyes shut.

Wanda looked in. A young man, heralded for his smarts. Not a genius, but still bright. Ambitious. He grew up in an Indiana town—and went to Columbia in Chicago. Engineering. The head of several clubs, a life in the city, away from his parents and sister. Finally happy. He partied and had girlfriends and experimented—

_Hold it there._  
_I’ve never….done this before…_  
_It’s all right, Vic._

There was fear there. Shame. Hate. Anger. It had been easy for Sebasilla to latch into that and push him to reimagine, to change his shame into pride, his hate into love, his anger into joy. _Imagine your darkest moments,_ the woman’s voice was still there, echoing in his head.

And Wanda could see it.

Sitting in his apartment, looking out at the city and hating _them_. His ignorant, white-trash, redneck family. His parents had just asked him to put their Will together. If it were up to him, he’d sell that trashy motel and be done with it. He hated it. It was creepy. People had sex in it. Did drugs in it. They _died_ in it. He’d once found a body in the last room, stuffed into the bathroom cupboard. He’d run away and not told anyone. No one had used the room—his parents hadn’t discovered it for weeks. And stupid Olivia—he thanked his stars he was handsome and she was ugly. If she’d been pretty—she probably could have gotten away with being stupid and tomboyish and useless. But she couldn’t because she was ugly. And he was handsome and smart—he was made for the city. But his stupid parents decided to take their anniversary to New York City (since it was so cheap to go there now after the attacks and the Avengers and everything) and then fucking aliens came out of the fucking sky and they stood in the street like a couple of morons and got themselves killed. And now he had to go _back_ to that stupid, fucking filthy hotel to his stupid sister and manage the place for her. If only he had finished the Will first. But he hadn’t. And the motel had gone to Olivia. She wasn't even his real sister!

And then suffocating shame that the first thing he’d thought on hearing his parents had died—was his own frustration and selfishness. He’d worked so hard for everything and he was going to lose it. Even when he got back to Indiana, he didn’t speak to Olivia for weeks.

So much shame at his own actions. And Sebasilla wormed her way in and said, _You can change everything. Live it out now._

It was a powerful illusion—even Wanda was surprised at how it flooded with color and suddenly he was talking to Olivia—convincing her to give it all up and go to Chicago with him. He was apologizing for burning her with the iron poker when he was seventeen and she’d been asleep in bed and he’d almost set her whole bed on fire, covering her back in fierce scarring and bubbling blisters. She was prettier in his fantasy. A sister he could be proud of—smarter, prettier, more feminine. And when the shame bubbled up at thinking such things—Sebasilla soothed him, urged him down, asked him to _focus_.

And while his shame and fantasy consumed him—Sebasilla had taken easy control of the others. She’d let the Winter Soldier kill them and soon none of their shame and fantasies would matter. Nothing would matter except a beautiful death.

Wanda unearthed that shame—formally hidden and buried deep down inside himself where Victor never let it out and would never have acted on any of it. He was a good young man at heart but with the failings of a regular human. Wanda soothed him. There was no further suggestion in Victor—as Sebasilla had intended for the Winter Soldier to kill him—there was no need.

The Scarlet Witch pulled back and opened her eyes. He opened his—and this time, he met hers. She held his gaze like an iron trap. “It is all right. You are only human, Victor.”

He looked down.

“You are yourself now—for good or ill,” she said. “You may go. Please send your sister to me.”

Victor had never felt so insecure in his whole life. Like a raw, exposed wound or nerve. Like she was looking through him and seeing everything in his head. He walked out of the room and closed the door. He walked back over to his sister and the four Avengers. He gestured to Olivia but then just sat down and stared at his knees.

 

 

 

One by one, Wanda took each of them aside, peeking into their heads, seeing the things Sebasilla looked for and easing everyone back. For the complexity of him, she took Bucky aside last. Steve did not leave the main area but Wanda insisted on being able to see Bucky alone. So into the little side room they went.

She was slower with him than any of the others. She had met people like him, men and women alike. But no one to the extent of Bucky.

“You have many lost memories,” Wanda said quietly. “I can feel your unease. The darkness where you want to find light.”

Bucky had a hard stare, stony and concrete, but at that, he glanced down. “I remember bits and pieces.”

“But there is more. Even though it is painful—you wish to see everything you were and everything they made you.”

Bucky looked up, meeting her eyes again. He nodded.

“I have been through something similar to you—in terms of the mind. And I know that you would want these memories whether they are good or bad.”

He nodded again, lips tightening.

She reached up slowly, gently touching his hair, combing her fingers through it. “I will help you remember then, if I can.” She moved her chair closer to him, sitting directly in front of him. She looked into his scruffy face, his haunted smoke-blue eyes. She lifted her hands, placing her middle and pointer fingers on his temples. He did not look away. He stared directly into her eyes.

Like the peek she’d taken—there were flashes, hundreds of thousands of images crammed together and then shattered like a broken mirror. A million reflections of who he was, who he is, who he might have been. But unlike the peek, she did not draw away.

She let him draw her in.

His mind was a maze, a fog. She’d met many troubled people—but nothing quite like him. His mind was like a matryoshka doll—but each doll was an impossibly different shape than the doll which had contained it. Nothing wanted to fit. Everything was disjointed. And everywhere—she could sense words, triggers, traps. She knew these things—she had placed some herself in her time and some had been placed on her when she was younger. Words and images used to unconsciously control someone. She could sense the edges, lift them—but they were nailed down. She had to go back farther. Farther.

Farther.

To a young man, chiseled and classically handsome: brown hair and dark summer-storm eyes and a roguish smile. The bane and butter for many a young lady.

A small friend he felt something deep and fierce for. Like a brother he wanted to protect. She did not recognize him until he said:

_Steve—goddammit, you’re gonna give me a heart attack!_

_They better leave those ladies alone! Harassing ‘em in the street, Buck! In the damn street! Like a coupla thugs!_

_You are like a fucking angry puppy, Steve. Those guys were gonna kick the shit out of you!_

_It ain’t right, Bucky! Who cares what they do to me--!_

Steve. Steve Rogers—the same man who was sitting anxiously outside with Sam.

Like piano keys, the images fell into their correct places. The sounds and confusion cleared.

She went forward to a man in Italy, still ruggedly handsome but drawn and more haunted by the war. His capture and confinement. And then Zola.

A looming figure in his head with such an aura of menace that Wanda felt some trepidation the moment he entered the examination room. Zola was like a goblin. Sagging face and piggy little eyes, looking at Bucky with some mixture of envy, desire and insanity. He talked to himself constantly in Bucky’s presence—but only when it was just the two of them. He murmured and chanted and rehearsed conversations that never took place. He touched and examined the sergeant everywhere, injected him with strange things and watched his suffering without pity. And Bucky was helpless.

The moments, the images, the sounds, the music of a life fell into line behind her, around her, filling the dark recesses of his mind, his Desert.

Steve Rogers showing up again—looking how he looked now—but different too. A little more idealistic. More naïve. More hopeful. Would put everything at stake—like he did on the train.

The train was such a catastrophic event, had ingrained such trauma into him that it was one of the few things that Bucky still remembered mostly in order. Though now the blond man screaming for him had a name ( _Steve_ ) and falling into snow and being drug back to Zola to begin the nightmare again had this stench of sickly-sweet rotting horror.

One terror after another, one horror, one travesty after another. And underneath it all—the terrible helplessness. Escape attempts that ended in failure, endless attempts to break his spirit, endless days until time no longer mattered. He no longer lived from morning to night but from experiment to experiment. From one pain to the next. Until he was put in cryo-freeze—and then it was one darkness to the next. One terror as the cold closed in and he felt like he was suffocating and he couldn’t do anything but beat helplessly on the door and scream or cry and then darkness. Horrible sickness when they woke him years later, disoriented and hurting.

One darkness to the next.

Until they introduced him to the girls. Little girls—many of them—the Red Room. The Red Room. Where Hydra trained their young female operatives. The little girls were a bright spot. They couldn’t completely crush that in him. He cared about them. He taught them. He protected them, when he could. _Big brother James_ , they called him.

 _James!_ Becca flashed through his mind. As dangerous to the boys with that smile of hers as he was to the girls.

 _Jamie!_ Robert next.

 _Sergeant Barnes!_ said Joseph, saluting him and admiring his uniform.

And then darkness when they took it all away.

He went rogue for a month once. But when they found him—he surrendered. He must obey. He was to remain helpless. He was helpless to the compulsion.

 _Focus_ said Faustus. _Focus._

A very dangerous man, Wanda knew immediately. She had no idea who he was until this moment. He could do something similar to what _she_ could do. A very, very dangerous man. This man had taught the others. The others taught Sebasilla.

Another time, they showed him footage at the Battle of New York. How later that night, Rumlow came to his holding room, where they strapped him down when not being directed. Rumlow, who radiated some strange desire to be like the Winter Soldier. To be that powerful but to retain his will, to do Hydra’s bidding because he _wanted_ to, not because he was forced to—like Bucky was. It was like a lust in Rumlow’s mind. To possess everything the Winter Soldier could be—and be better. Hydra was an abstract concept for the Winter Soldier. It—like most things—didn’t really matter. Nothing did, except the mission. But for Rumlow—Hydra was a huge presence. Hydra was everything. Hydra was God.

He took a syringe and showed the Winter Soldier a picture of himself. “That’s you,” said Rumlow. “I found your blood type, finally. Same as mine, Frosty.” Rumlow stuffed the photo back into his pocket and stuffed the syringe’s needle into the Winter Soldier’s arm.

Wanda felt this click into place—this event made sense to Bucky in some way. Something connected there. Like a million lights at Christmas, the images in his mind flared and rearranged around her, behind her, ahead of her.

Then the Man on the Bridge.

And when he said that name: _Bucky_

Like a sledgehammer. A wrecking ball. How it wormed into his ear and smashed into his skull and nothing quite shattered but it cracked and Wanda saw how, in the dark emptiness of his mind—a little light flared. Like a lightening bug, unable to be crushed, it flickered and brought forward _uncertainty_. Fear. Awareness. Like a lighthouse in the black of night.

The Man on the Bridge.

_Who was he? The man on the bridge?_

No one.

_I knew him._

Wipe him.

The flood of nausea and terror.

_Bucky._

And somewhere, on the shore of the Potomac river, he thought he heard, _Steve…_

And then the running, the hiding, the uncertainty, the fear. He was not the Winter Soldier but a man called Bucky. A man named James Barnes. A man who had an entire wall dedicated to him at the museum.

And finally, Wanda could see all the trigger words, the controlling traps placed on him and in him and she could touch and feel and taste them. Metallic and cold. She pulled them up and out.

 

It was like an electric shock to both of them. It instantly jerked her out of his mind. And he shuddered, gasping for a breath. His nose was bleeding. His eyes were wide, hallowed out, wild. He tried to stand and teetered, smashing into the small bookshelf by the window. Wanda leapt up and grabbed him. She eased him back into his chair and leaned him forward, pulling his forehead to her shoulder and rubbing his back gently.

“It will be all right,” she murmured. “You remember now.”


	12. Kindness of Strangers

Wanda held onto Bucky—and the silence between them lasted about three seconds before she saw Steve at the door. He was looking into the narrow window, concern saturating his face. She unlocked it with a thought and he swept in. Sam stayed outside the door, looking in, simply leaning against the doorframe. 

“Bucky?” Steve asked, voice unconsciously dropping to a whisper.

Bucky’s forehead lifted a little off of Wanda’s shoulder. And he seemed to start a little, doing something like a double-take at Wanda. “Wanda…” he said quietly, softly. 

She peered at him and nodded. “Yes, Bucky. I am Wanda Maximoff.”

Steve’s eyes furrowed, detecting some kind of change.

“Bucky…” Bucky repeated. “James. I’m James Barnes.”

“Bucky…” Steve echoed, reaching out to touch his shoulder and then hesitating. 

Only Wanda really saw how Bucky’s expression rewrote itself. How, at Steve’s voicing his name, he suddenly froze. His eyes were wide and hollow, fixed on her collarbone. He broke out in a cold sweat. “Steve.”

“Y-yeah—Bucky. I’m…”

Wanda watched Bucky sit up, his eyes move sideways. “Oh my God…” he breathed.

Steve looked at Wanda, alarmed, then back just in time for Bucky to lurch up and grab him. “B-Bucky? Are you okay?”

“Oh my God,” he repeated, grabbing into Steve’s shoulders and staring at him. “Holy fucking shit. You’re here. You’re here and I’m here. Oh my God.” He pulled him in, embraced Steve fully. 

Steve looked at the top of Bucky’s head. “What—wait—what? Bucky? Bucky, are you—“

“I’m okay,” he ground out, voice muffled in Steve’s shirt. “Shit. I’m okay. I’m okay. I…I just…she touched my head and everything started to sort out, Steve. Fucking shit—that serum kept, huh? You—you went down in the ice and saved everyone—fucking—why would you _do_ that!”

Steve went pale, his stomach turned and for a moment, Wanda thought she was going to have to steady him. But then the super soldier seemed to rally. “I….I had to…”

“What about Peg, you idiot!”

“She…I…Bucky…”

“Is she still alive?” Bucky asked, standing up straight and grabbing into Steve’s collar. “Is she still around? I didn't kill her. I would remember if I had.”

“She’s….she’s in a home now, Bucky. Has Alzheimer’s…”

“Fuck…Steve…I’m sorry. I know how much she meant to you.” 

“Buck—are you—“

“I did so many terrible things,” Bucky said suddenly, voice dropping to a murmur. “I…I didn’t want to. I didn’t mean to…I—“

“It wasn’t your fault, Bucky—it was Hydra. Hydra.”

“Yeah…it was.” Bucky swayed a little and Steve maneuvered him to sit back down. Bucky’s breath was a little short as the cold sweat finally started to ease. “I…remember—I remember how you tried to save me. And I…I fell. In the mountains.”

Steve swallowed hard. “Yeah…I…I meant to come back to look for you. I meant to get you back. I…”

“Don’t, man—there was nothing anyone could have done.”

“I’m so sorry—“

“Don’t Stevie. You got nothing to be sorry for.” He slapped his hand to his forehead. “Shit. I _shot_ you! Fuck me! Are you okay!”

“Y-yeah, of course!” Steve smiled a little uncertainly. “I—it was months ago. Besides, you missed—I mean, you missed vital areas.”

“See, I must have known—I must have—deep down. I musta known your dumbass. I’m way too good of a shot to miss such an obvious target.”

“I knew you did.”

“Forgive me?”

“Forgiven. But you ever shoot me again, Barnes—I’ll kick your ass.”

Bucky smiled—a ghost of his old cocky roguish grin.

Steve’s face relaxed. He felt something flood into him—something like…connection, happiness. He looked gratefully at Wanda. She smiled back gently.

Bucky followed his gaze. “You—you’re Wanda. You did that? Got my head back on?”

Wanda looked down a bit, then nodded. “I helped.”

A bark of a laugh escaped Bucky’s mouth. “Lookit this dame, Steve! Beautiful and smart! You are the best person I ever met, Wanda! Let me buy you a beer!” He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

“Bucky!” Steve reprimanded, unable to help grinning as he watched Wanda’s eyes widen in surprise and then her face turn red.

“I feel so sick right now,” Bucky told him. “Nerves, you think? Emotions?”

“Giddy—you are giddy because you remember,” Wanda managed quietly. “Your head is swimming with it.”

“I—yeah.” Bucky agreed, putting a hand to his chest to try and steady his breathing. “I’m in shock, I think. I feel dizzy.”

“Yes, you are in shock,” Wanda agreed quietly.

He shuddered, Steve still holding onto him. “I…I’m…”

“How about I get you upstairs? You need to rest, Bucky.”

Bucky nodded, looking dazed still. Steve helped him stand. “Don’t let me forget, Steve—I—I gotta thank her. I gotta…for Wanda…”

“Yeah, I’ll remind you.” Steve put an arm over Bucky’s shoulder and helped him walk out. 

Sam nodded to Wanda in thanks and turned to follow Steve.

Wanda sat down to still her frantic heart and gently rubbed her cheek.

 

 

Fury swung the monitor around. “This is what remains, Ms Major. I’m sorry for that.” He watched her lean forward, taking in the screen and the burning mess that was the Treble Inn. He observed her face, watching for a reaction. Besides the slight shifting of her eyebrows, she seemed almost numb. Her fingernails, he noticed, were still chewed up and split. They had oil and dust in them instead of dirt. She leaned her forehead in her hand. 

“Ms Major.”

She looked up at him.

Fury got that no-nonsense look on his face. “It’s gone—but there are other things you can do here. Your brother too.”

The woman snorted softly.

Fury lifted his eyebrows.

“I’m sure he’s thrilled,” Olivia said quietly. “He always hated the motel. He’ll do well here.”

“You gonna leave then?” Fury asked, showing nothing of his thoughts on the matter.

“I suppose,” she said. “Unless you can find something for me to do. I’m not smart like my brother, I’m not pretty like Black Widow, I can’t heal like Captain America. I’m pretty much useless.”

Fury leaned back in his chair, observing her a moment. She grew up in a rural area of Indiana—a state already not known for stellar public schools. Her brother was always heralded as the smart one and he went to college. She was always the ‘dumb’ one and so stayed to manage the motel. She wasn’t Natasha-pretty—he couldn’t lie there. But she wasn’t really ugly. She was plain. There wasn’t really anything particularly remarkable about her looks but it wasn’t like half her face was burned away or she had big tufts of hair on her nose or something. She was average, plain—she looked like a normal person. She was short, she had wide hips and a narrow waist, muddy-ocean colored eyes and brown hair. Natasha had said all of that in her report to him—but she’d also said that the woman had asked Bucky to teach her a bit. And she took a beating and got right back up again. So there was some stubbornness to her. 

“You know who Sam Wilson is, right?” Fury said finally.

Olivia blinked and nodded quickly. “Of course—he’s the Falcon.”

“You know he doesn’t have any powers. Just stubborn as shit and has a flying suit and decent aim.”

She looked down. “I don’t have…anything like—“

“I know that,” Fury barked. “Even if you did I ain’t sure I’d feel too comfortable just letting you on board. Your brother will be watched in the laboratories. You, though—how about you start working with Sam. You gonna make sure his suit is in good shape, that it gets repaired when he comes back from a mission.”

Olivia stared at him for a moment. “You…are you…sure?”

“Does it look like I’m uncertain that often?”

“No, sir.” Olivia said quickly.

“Damn right. I’ll tell Sam the new arrangement—you go back to your room or something.”

 

 

 

Bruce Banner was not a pilot. He knew what he was waiting for—the plane to simply crash. And it did, eventually. And he turned into the Other Guy immediately on impact—because that was what always happened. When he came to himself again, he was on a beach. Clothes destroyed, covered in wounds and mud and smelling like salt, Bruce heaved himself over onto his back. The moon was out. The stars were winking at him—it made him scowl. It took him several moments before he could stand. The beach was deserted, which was for the best, really. Whenever he came out of a transformation—there was that period of disorientation after he woke up. He assumed it was from exhaustion and the flood of chemicals trying to balance out again. This was when he was most vulnerable. 

This was when Natasha would help him up and get him back to the ship or plane or whatever. It had almost felt like…they were friends. They all were. All the Avengers—only calling him in when necessary and taking care of him afterwards. But even then…he went to Natasha during all that Ultron stuff—to try and get her out and away. Instead, she wanted to fight—which was fine with him—but she’d pushed him into that pit to force him to change. 

Something he liked even less than transforming was not being the one who controlled the transformations. If she was willing to kiss him to try and distract him so she could force him to become the Hulk….well, what else would they be willing to do?

She had talked about wanting to get together, running away with him—and then got mad at him because the people who were killed because of him mattered. They mattered to him. He couldn’t understand why she was annoyed with him—Captain Rogers was the same way. The people who died mattered to him. 

And then her whole weird thing of trying to say that her being sterilized was somehow similar to him becoming the Hulk. She was a monster because she couldn’t have children? That didn’t even make sense. 

Well, it was a weird situation and everyone was under a lot of stress. They were only human, after all (except Thor, of course). Maybe they would all even out later. 

They were compatible…in an odd sort of way. But he was already insecure because of the Other Guy—which was why Tony was both the best and worst person to be around. He responded well to Tony’s live-and-let-die, I-do-what-I-want attitude but sometimes his judgment could be swayed too…

He ran his fingers through his filthy hair. Bruce found himself on the edge of a small town. He hid out by the shore, finding a small cave and collapsing there to sleep. Bruce was no stranger to living like a vagabond. Ever since the Change—he’d been on the run. Except for the almost blissful year he’d spent living protected in Stark’s tower—he found himself living off-grid more often than not. He was oddly acquainted with the kindness of strangers—at least when he was human. 

He never stayed in one place for very long. He never got to know anyone too deeply. And he was a doctor who spoke fluent Spanish, Hindi and French. He’d staggered into villages, large cities, washed up on shores like he had tonight—it had all happened more than once. The locals relaxed more when he could speak with them and he traded his skills for food. Even in India—he’d spoken broken French with a few folks and then started learning Hindi. By the time Natasha came and found him—he could chat like a native. The point was—Bruce felt that most people were inherently good. Most people just wanted to get by. 

He woke up in the cave to a little girl staring at him. The girl laid down a few mussels beside his head and then hurried off. 

The kindness of strangers. 

Bruce sat up. He examined the mussels and then slurped them down. 

He didn’t remember passing out again—just waking up to the little girl poking his cheek and an older young man covering him from the waist down with a sheet. He met his eyes. The two had dusky skin and beautiful, shining dark hair. He did not move, afraid of spooking them. But he thanked them quietly, in English.

He seemed to know what he said, though he replied in Spanish. He must be in South America. He switched to Spanish and his eyes lit up in understanding. 

The boy and girl helped him stand, him tying the sheet around his waist and they led him back to their home. He could tell from the dialect of Spanish that he was probably in Argentina, somewhere along the coast.

There were two older people in the small house—he assumed probably parents. Speaking with them seemed to put them at ease and soon he was sitting at their table with them, eating bread and potatoes and agreeing to examine their neighbor. This was how it usually started. 

Soon he was integrated into the little community. He rented his own place. No one asked him for papers or identification. 

But, of course, it never lasted. Eventually, someone would get wind of a promise of money in exchange for his location. It always happened just when he started to think: _Maybe not this time._

Because while it was important to remember the kindness of strangers—some strangers weren’t so kind. And after almost a year—there was a pounding on the door and some yelling in Spanish and English. Bruce turned on his heel, grabbing his satchel and bolted for the back door. He was not afraid of being shot—he was afraid he’d transform in the village. And more people, innocent people, would die because of him.

He made it to the treeline before some military types popped up with guns.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Bruce said quietly. “Don’t do this.”

“We know who you are,” said one of the soldiers. “Bruce Banner, the Hulk.”

“So you know why shooting me would be a terrible idea for you.”

“Or a terrible idea for this village.”

Bruce looked behind him.

The man who spoke was tall—probably as tall as Steve. And big. His uniform was different from everyone else’s though. Most of them were wearing some kind of tactical gear. This man’s body armor had some kind of white bone motif spray-painted on it. “Let me clarify—I don’t give a shit about this village. You transform, you destroy the village, kill the civilians—I’ll let you do the whole thing—and we’ll still take you in.”

Bruce circled away from the man a little. Something about him—the white bones on his body armor, the strange, unhinged look in his eyes. “I’d kill too many of you.”

“I don’t care. So either you go ahead and transform, destroy the village, kill some of my team, kill those innocent civilians you care so much about. Or you come with me, quietly. With no fuss. And no one needs to die.”

“And then what?” Bruce narrowed his eyes. This was not exactly the situation he’d assumed. He was figuring on regular local police. Not this guy. What was wrong with this guy? He seemed…familiar. 

“Don’t worry—I won’t be taking you back to your buddy Captain America or the others.” 

Bruce started. “You—you’re Rumlow! Brock Rumlow!”

“Ding-ding-ding, you win, Banner. Do you know what that means, Green? It means you know I’m not lying when I’m saying that I’ll let you kill every one of these people. And then we’ll follow you until you collapse and then we’ll take you anyway.”

Bruce looked behind the row of men around Rumlow. He could see the civilians—men, women, children—observing him. Asking questions. Trying to find out what was happening. “Fine,” he said softly. He raised up his arms. 

“Good choice,” Rumlow told him. He gestured to the men around him, who surged forward to cuff Bruce Banner and haul him away. 

Rumlow looked at the helicopter, watching as it lifted off—watching until Banner’s face disappeared. And then he gestured to the villagers and said to his team, “Take care of them.”

He walked away, listening to the screaming and gunfire begin.


	13. Naivete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There was a cartoon?” Steve asked, chuckling softly. 
> 
> “Came on right after the Ninja Turtles,” she said. “It was just called _Captain America and the Howling Commandos_ or just _Howling Commandos_ for short.”  
>  \----------

Bucky found Victor in one of the laboratories. He watched the young man quietly until he glanced up and then Bucky waved to him.

The former assassin shook Victor’s hand when he exited the lab to talk to him. “I just wanted to say—thank you. You and your sister, Olivia—she….you both really helped me.”

Victor shrugged a little. “I guess I can’t complain—I mean…this…being here. I mean. This is incredible. I actually _saw_ Tony Stark in one of the other labs. Do you think I might get to talk to him? I mean—well, I guess I wouldn’t really know what to talk to him about. And I just met Jane Foster today—she has a Nobel Prize. She said she’s flying her intern in tomorrow. So I—er—I’m sorry. I’m rambling. You’re welcome. You were a guy who needed help. I thought Liv was nuts to let you stay but…you were a good person.”

Bucky shifted a little awkwardly. “I dunno if I’d go that far—but I just…wanted to make sure I thanked you. Both of you—if I can find Olivia. Do you know where she is?”

Victor shrugged again. “I dunno. Maria Hill said she was thinking about leaving but she had to talk to Nick Fury first.”

Bucky peered at him. “You…you haven’t spoken to each other?”

“Well, I mean—they put me here. And it’s been a real rollercoaster. And honestly, I always hated that motel. This is…this place is incredible. I suppose there’s not much here she could really do.”

“Oh,” Bucky said quietly, studying Victor. “Huh. Okay. Well—I’ll just…ask around then.” 

Victor turned away to hurry back into the lab. Bucky headed back into the hallway, where Natasha was waiting. 

“Find him?”

“Yeah, you know…it didn’t occur to me until just now….but he’s…he’s kind of weird.”

Natasha laughed. “Yeah, a bit. I mean, not all siblings get along but they don’t even seem to like each other very much. They seem to just sort of tolerate each other.”

“I wonder what Wanda saw in their heads. Ah well—do you know much about Wanda?”

“She speaks excellent Russian. And she’s psychic. She was nice when she peeked inside my head. She’s…kind of lonely sometimes, I think.” Natasha looked sidelong at him, a sly smile on her face. “Why? You suddenly remember how Bucky Barnes was a ladykiller?”

“No,” Bucky said quietly, shoulders stiffening a little. “I’m not—I mean, I remember but…I’m not that guy anymore, Natasha.”

She lowered her eyes. “You’re right—I’m sorry, James. I didn’t—“

“It’s all right. I just…” he sighed. “Anyway, she really—she got my head back on. How do you…thank someone for something like that? Where do I even begin?”

Natasha smiled a little. “Just get to know her, James. Ask her about herself. Become friends. She seems like the type who has trouble making friends. She _still_ calls me Miss Romanov. She’s polite but…reserved.”

“Hydra used to…have her, didn’t they? Her and her brother?”

“Yes—I guess that’s something you both have in common.” That made Bucky smile and chuckle. “It’ll be weird but it gives you a place to start. And being friends with a woman in this time is more acceptable than in the forties. I mean—it still has a stigma—“

“Women still aren’t treated very well. Even now. I mean—better in some ways but still not really equal.”

Natasha nodded in agreement. “Just keep it in mind, be respectful, be her friend. You could use a couple friends outside of assassins and super soldiers.”

“How much can she…actually see at one time?”

Natasha shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think she can see—as far in as she wants. It depends on how deeply she looks. But I don’t really…know how she…looks, I guess.” The two assassins headed down to the elevator and stepped in to head up. “You know though…I know it’s weird for a lot of people here to see you…but, uh—do you…remember me?”

Bucky looked at the floor of the elevator. “I do…when you were little. You wanted me to…teach you how to be silent.”

“You know—you were the one good thing in the Red Room for a lot of us,” Natasha admitted. “Not to make it awkward or anything. We didn’t really completely understand what you were—we just thought you were an excellent assassin. We all wanted to be just like you. When I got older and realized what that actually meant…it made me doubt.”

“Good,” Bucky answered.

“Also, it’s because of you that my American accent is so good. Almost no hint of Russian in it.”

That made Bucky smile. “I appreciate you looking after Steve, you know.”

“Ah well. He’s not much of an assassin. Sometimes he seems so naïve.”

Bucky laughed out loud as the elevator finally stopped. “Is that what you all think of him? That he’s naïve?” He stepped out.

“Isn’t he? He has all this idealism and…real people don’t think like that.”

Bucky shook his head. “That’s something that none of you will ever understand. That was Steve before the serum. And it was Steve after the serum. He was a genuinely good person who was constantly getting beat up and hurt. It only made him more stubborn. You all have grown up with this _thing_ of the legendary Captain America Steve Rogers, the perfect commander, the golden boy. But I knew him before that. Before anyone appreciated anything about him. He wasn’t quite so handsome and he was about a foot shorter. But who he was then and who he is now…pretty much the same. The only difference is that he went through the war. So he has more experience now. Same as me. If you think he got through Nazi Germany on smiles and good thoughts—then you don’t know him at all.” He walked into the kitchen area of the common floor.

Natasha followed. “Well, he just…he’s such an awful liar and—“

“Because he had the strength to tell the truth?” Bucky interrupted, turning around to glare at her from over the counter. “Because he believed in doing what was right instead of what was easy?”

“James—“

“No. Steve was never good at pretending to be something he wasn’t. So yeah, he wouldn’t be a very good spy. And he wouldn’t enjoy it at all. But he knows where his strengths are. He knows who he is. That’s the problem with people like you and me. We’re good liars. But we don’t know who we are. And acting like that makes us strong and makes him weak—is just stupid. Anyone who looks down on him for being true to himself—they’re just insecure about who they are.”

Natasha snorted. “Even me?”

“Yes,” Bucky said flatly, watching her with his smoke-blue eyes. “I heard about how you freaked out on Bruce Banner when he refused to run away with you because he actually gives a shit about the people who die because of him.”

“But there’s nothing he can do about those people, James.”

Bucky scowled. “Yeah, and what about the people _I_ killed, Romanov?”

“When you were the Winter Soldier—“

“When he was the Hulk,” he said pointedly, raising his eyebrows at her.

Natasha blinked. It suddenly clicked into place. “Oh…”

“Yeah. _Oh_.” Bucky took a deep breath and opened the fridge to pour some water into a glass. 

“I’m sorry,” Natasha said quietly.

Bucky turned back around. “You know better, Romanov. The kind of assumptions that you make about Steve and Banner—you were raised in the Red Room. You know better than to do that. Even if you don’t agree with their methods—you should be studying them as deeply as you would have any target when you were an assassin. Trying to understand them, instead of acting superior because you used to kill people without asking questions—as if that makes you stronger than them. But it doesn’t. Killing on orders is easy. Not asking questions is easy. But those who question themselves and examine who they are—they go through more turmoil than you could ever imagine.” He scoffed. “If I were still the Winter Soldier and you were still at the Red Room, I’d put you back in year one with the seven year olds for making such amateur mistakes.”

Natasha looked away and didn’t meet his gaze when he came around the counter and headed for the library. Natasha didn’t follow. She sighed softly to herself and then headed out to go to one of the research floors to do her daily sweep for news about Bruce.

 

 

Olivia stood in the flight hall. Sam had just landed, looking a little roughed up. She still wasn’t sure what he thought about her and she didn’t ask. She was here to keep his body armor in good shape. She could do that. He probably wouldn’t even notice her. He seemed almost as awkward as she felt, as he removed the wing pack and armored body suit. He was clearly used to caring for things himself. Fortunately, Sharon Carter walked in to distract him. 

She was so pretty. Slender, willowy and blond, an excellent shot and a good agent and her great-aunt was Peggy Carter. She was perfect.

“Have you got this?” Sam asked her politely.

She nodded. “Fury and Stark sent me some instructions.”

“Well, just call me if you have any questions, okay?”

She nodded and then inclined her head in greeting to Sharon. “Ma’am.”

The woman nodded back and took Sam’s hand to walk out of the flight hall with him. 

Olivia followed Fury’s directions, running some diagnostic tests with help from a couple of the Starkbots. They didn’t appear to have any names. So she gave them names. Kibeth, Alistair, and Cassandra. She chatted idly with them why she worked. It was interesting to see Falcon’s gear up close. Maybe she should have joined the military? It was—

She looked up when she heard the armored door unlock and Steve Rogers came through it. She stood up straight. “Captain Rogers,” she greeted him, shifting uncertainly next to Alistair, who was holding a heat shield in one claw. 

He smiled a little. “You don’t have to call me Captain, you know. I—just Steve is fine.”

“Oh…um. All right,” she told him. “I mean, if you’re sure. It’s kind of weird—I guess. I used to watch the cartoon series about you and the Howling Commandos.”

“There was a cartoon?” Steve asked, chuckling softly. 

“Came on right after the Ninja Turtles,” she said. “It was just called _Captain America and the Howling Commandos_ or just _Howling Commandos_ for short.”

“Was it any good?”

She laughed at little, something about his earnest smile putting her at ease. “Well, it had the basics. The writing wasn’t bad. Though, when we learned about you in history class—I thought you seemed…more faceted than the cartoon presented.”

“It was all stars and stripes and America, I imagine?”

“Yeah, a bit. They really fed into that stereotype. But it resurfaced on Youtube after they found you.”

“Maybe I’ll check it out.”

“At your own risk, sir. It’s, uh….cringe-worthy sometimes. Although the only episode anyone ever remembers was the two-part season finale, where you saved Bucky Barnes from Zola.”

Steve chuckled, looking at Cassandra when she beeped and Olivia went to the robot, checking her instructions again before putting in some numbers. Steve watched her for a moment and then said, “So, Bucky told me you went with him to the lab.”

Her eyes flicked up to him and something in her face darkened a little. “Yeah…I, uh. I did.”

Steve watched her. “Had you ever killed a person before?”

She shook her head silently, looking down at Falcon’s gear.

“Why did you volunteer to go with him?”

She looked a little uncomfortable, shifting in place. “I…I wanted to help. He seemed like a good person. Just…hurt. Inside, I guess.”

Steve nodded a little to himself. “How have you been holding up? It’s…not easy to do something like that.”

“I’m all right, sir. It’s—nothing compared to what anyone else here has been through—“

Steve raised a hand. “That doesn’t matter. Everyone’s first time is difficult. Killing other people isn’t easy. It shouldn’t be easy. But Hydra did terrible things. I imagine you didn’t quite realize what you were getting into but when you saw it—you could have run. But you didn’t. Did your brother, Victor—did he go too?”

“No—well, he went but he didn’t go into the lab until we gave him the all-clear. He stayed up in the cemetery in case we needed a quick getaway.”

“I wondered,” Steve said, nodding a little. “He seemed to be handling all this a lot differently from you.”

“I suppose. Honestly, Bucky did most of the work. He’s….impressive. And, kind of terrifying to watch. I can’t even remember most of that day. Bucky warned me that would happen and he was right. The doctors here said it was because big events like that get blocked out, I guess.”

“Yeah—it was the same for me,” Steve agreed. “And every other person who’s experienced combat that I’ve ever talked to. If they aren’t raised in that environment, I mean. Natasha can remember the first time she killed someone. But I can’t. Bucky doesn’t either. He knows it was his first skirmish with Nazis—but he can’t remember any details. The first time you kill someone is always the hardest and most traumatic. It doesn’t get easier, you just get used to it. Helps your instincts and your reflexes—you react faster and you have more control. Combat stops feeling like a blur…and turns into a…”

“A dance?” She asked.

Steve peered at her. “Yeah, actually. Yes.”

“I’d like…more training, if I could get it. Bucky was teaching me some things but—I mean—he’s busy now and I don’t expect anything from anyone. Just…if I could—I just—I just want to be useful.”

“I know the feeling,” Steve told her. “Bucky wanted to take you two with us—so if you want combat training, we’ll get it for you.”

Her eyes lit up. “I—I would be really…grateful, sir. I—I just want to be useful. I know I’m not…I’m not smart like my brother and I’m not pretty but—I work hard. I work hard, sir.”

“Steve, remember? It’s Steve.”

“Oh! S-sorry. Habit.” She covered her mouth with her hand. “I’ll try to remember. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Steve smiled, raising a hand to placate her. “Try to relax, Olivia.”

She twisted her fingers together. “Thank you,” she said, quietly. “I…thank you for giving me a chance, Steve.”

“We can start tomorrow then,” he said. “Come around at about nine to the gym on the fifth floor? It’s got lots of mats.”

She stared at him. “I—you want to—oh. Well. Um. Okay. Th-thank you.”

 

 

 

Bruce breathed hard, panting. Sweat dripped into his eye. He closed it, trying to keep hold of himself. He glanced up through the glass walls, where Rumlow and a couple of lab coats were watching him.

“Again. Longer this time,” Rumlow said, starting to smile.

The bolt of electricity slammed into the base of his spine. Bruce cried out, every muscle going stiff and painful. His lungs were paralyzed. The back of his shirt was soaked in blood. His hands, cuffed behind his back, strained against the metal shackles. He tipped forward on his knees, the pain throwing dark spots in front of his eyes.

“It would be easier if you would just allow the change, Banner,” Rumlow said into the speaker outside the glass walls. 

Bruce gritted his teeth. “What do you even want out of this?”

“Hydra’s hand takes many forms, Doctor Banner. They were too busy trying to control the Winter Soldier to see the potential that _wanted_ to serve them. But now I don’t have access to the asset or his _friend_ , Captain Rogers. You were working on an attempt to duplicate that serum.”

“I failed—that should be obvious. If you inject my blood into anyone—it might kill them.”

“That’s a chance that I’m sure they’re willing to take. If Hydra demands it.” He looked at the lab coat next to him and pointed to the screens. “I didn’t wanna have to do this, Banner. But you leave me no choice. Redirect the voltage to his brain. He’ll either change or we’ll fry him.”

The shock slammed into him like a brick. His vision went black. He could smell his skin roasting under the coppery tang of blood that was now seeping from his nose and ears—everything went fuzzy—

Rumlow watched the doctor slump onto the cold concrete floor. “Here it comes,” he murmured. “Get the collection vials and the tranquilizer darts.”

One of his grunts grabbed them and six of them stood outside the door. 

Rumlow licked his lips, watching Banner pulse, swell and then his shirt burst apart, skin turning green. “He’s changing, go! Now!”

The team charged into the room. Two of them shot collection darts at the Hulk. The rest started to unload tranquilizers. Rumlow watched the Hulk roar, grabbing two of them and smashing them together so hard that their body armor shattered. Their heads exploded, showering them all in blood. He swept aside the guns, lifting a third and slamming her into the concrete, leaving only thick, red smears behind. He crushed the heads of two more and the last, he pulled off his arms and threw them at the glass wall. And then he ripped his lower jaw away from his face.

Rumlow had a heated look in his eyes, like he was watching something arousing rather than the destruction of his people.

The Hulk beat against the reinforced glass of his prison. It trembled but didn’t shatter. The lab coat named Smith turned off the shock receivers. 

“Why did you stop?” Rumlow snapped.

“Because the angrier he gets, the stronger he gets. He’ll eventually break the window if he gets mad enough, sir.”

A call buzzed on a phone attached to the wall. Rumlow pushed the speaker on so he could watch the Hulk take his rage out on the corpses of his team. “What is it?”

“Sir, we’re having a problem with one of the containment fields in level D.”

Rumlow scowled. “Can you shoot her with a tranquilizer?”

“They seem to be effecting her less and less over time.”

Rumlow huffed. “All right, I’m on my way down.” He looked at the lab coats. “Get their bodies out of there when he passes out, Smith. Landon, come with me.”

Smith looked through the window when Rumlow slammed the door behind him. It took Banner thirty-two minutes to collapse. When he did, Smith got up, locking the observation room door and then entered the cell. He knelt beside Banner, grabbing the collection darts. His blood was thicker when he was the Hulk. Interesting. 

But looking at Banner like this was difficult. Smith cleaned the poor guy up as best he could. Smith was a biochemical engineer. He had read about Banner’s work. Knew he was an Avenger—when that became public knowledge after the Battle of New York. But by then, Smith had already been integrated into Hydra. As his parents had been and his grandparents before them. Hydra put him through college, paid for everything. As he was often reminded, he owed them. After college, he was taken into Hydra permanently to begin his combat training and put his degree to work. He thought he could finally cut ties when Hydra and Shield collapsed.

But then Rumlow had found him….

Banner stirred, breath wheezing through his lungs. His eyes opened. He tensed.

“No—it’s okay,” Smith murmured. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m sorry. I’ve always had respect for you and your work.”

Banner’s eyes cleared, peering at him. “What are you doing here then?”

“I never had a choice,” he whispered. Smith glanced around them nervously. “They found me when I tried to hide. I…” he swallowed hard in the cold, dry air. “I…I know where your belongings are. I can…” his voice dropped even lower, barely a faint breath, “…send a message?”

Banner blinked at him, studying the young man. He nodded once. “Five, twenty-two, zero.”

Smith nodded and helped the doctor sit up. He wrapped his wrists in bandages. The Hulk had torn right through the shackles. He gave Banner a bottle of water and then one by one, started dragging the corpses out of the cell. He went through their pockets but, as he knew there were cameras recording even in the observation booth, he put all their belongings in a small safe for Rumlow to riffle through. He’d been gone for nearly an hour. Whatever Harkness had done in level D must be bigger than he’d anticipated. Smith had no idea where they’d found Harkness. She had some kind of strange power and Rumlow had had an odd prison built specifically for her. Metal did not hold her, glass was nothing to her—she’d escaped each time. So Rumlow had the scientists build a complex containment field with electromagnetic barriers that contained her magic within a half-inch radius of her body. Hydra had been fast, after all, to collect anything they could from the alien ships that had come to New York City. Reverse engineering revealed many interesting technologies and devices that Hydra now used for themselves. One of the fallback bases in Nevada was attempting to get the warp portal to work. Only the best of the remaining Hydra scientists got to even visit the base and only the absolute best of _them_ got to work on it.

Smith cleaned up Banner’s cell and had food brought for him. Rumlow hadn’t let him eat in almost a week. And then he left Banner a blanket before locking up the cell and leaving. He went quietly to alert the head of maintenance that there were six corpses for disposal in Observation Block F, Room 12 and then headed for a small lock-up that was used to store prisoner belongings. He could see the bundle of Banner’s things in one corner. In the other was a cane that apparently belonged to Harkness, as well as her ragged clothes. (They’d changed her forcibly into prisoner’s scrubs.) A woman sat at the lock-up counter.

“Smith. Back again?”

“Yeah. I need, uh, Doctor Banner’s phone again. I’m gonna take another shot at hacking it.”

“Good luck,” she snorted. “I think it might be a custom-built Stark phone.”

“Does it charge with a mini-adapter?”

“Haha! It’s a Stark phone not an Apple.”

“Oh, well, should be all right then.” 

She chuckled as she dug around in his bundle for a ziplock bag that contained Banner’s cell phone. She brought it over and had him sign it out. 

Smith took the device to one of the smaller laboratories. It was empty this late in the evening. He plugged the phone into the wall and opened his personal work laptop to pull up all their data on Banner. Normally, they’d have a tech team to look at this stuff—but Rumlow’s operation was too small to support a real tech team. So everyone made do. 

The phone was a beauty and definitely a Stark build. It needed more than just a passcode to unlock. Luckily, Smith knew how to make gel-mold fingerprint smears. They’d printed Banner when they hauled him in almost a month ago and everything was stored in their database. But Smith either needed Banner’s hand or he needed an exact copy. He kept this knowledge to himself, however. If Rumlow knew he could make fingerprint molds, he would have forced Smith to do it under threat of death. Hydra had coerced him into doing a lot of things he regretted. So this secret, he had protected very carefully. He took the print of Banner's pointer finger of his right hand when the man was unconscious, in the middle of the night when Harkness had started another escape attempt downstairs. (It was almost like she _knew_ or something.) The distraction enabled him to go into Banner's cell under the guise of getting a blood sample. The gel was a liquid that molded to the oil in skin. He'd developed it himself during a forensics course that Hydra had provided. He wasn't sure what made him keep it to himself--but he did. It dried into a rubbery mold in about a minute, during which it could not be moved. After, he peeled it off and stored it safely in his quarters. Until now.

He removed the gel-mold from his lab coat pocket. It was kept protected in an air-tight glass case. He opened it and carefully removed the mold with tweezers. He laid it over the fingerprint screen. It beeped and then pinged green. Smith then had to be careful to keep the mold between his fingers and the glass to input the number code. If the phone detected fingerprints that were not Banner’s, the phone would shut down. No one had been able to get passed the home screen—even when they hacked it and forced Banner to touch the fingerprint screen. They didn’t trust Banner to actually use the phone for them but no one could touch the glass without it shutting down, so they had put it aside. But with Smith’s fingerprint mold, he got to the home screen and then opened up the contacts. He was sweating as he looked through the names. Some of them, he recognized (Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark)—and some of them he didn’t (Birdbrain, Flying Birdbrain, Wonder Twin W and Wonder Twin P, Captain Eyepatch). Thankfully, he came across Maria Hill. She was second only to Fury—and he was dead. So she might be the one actually in charge now. 

Smith chewed his tongue, selecting her name and then, one chicken-peck at a time, wrote a careful text to her stating: _Need help. At coordinates, Lat: 47.42, Long:67.92; Hydra base. Underground. Rumlow here. Took samples of Hulk blood. Other prisoner named Harkness, has magic. Biochem Smith sending for Banner._

He hit _Send_.

His hands were icy with a cold sweat. He exited out of the program back to the home screen and then removed the finger mold. He stuffed it into his pocket and then touched the glass so the phone would forcibly shut down. 

Smith stayed in the lab for another hour until he packed everything up and returned the phone to the lock-up, smiling ruefully and running his fingers through his dark brown hair as he admitted defeat to the Stark technology. He went back to his quarters quickly, where he melted the finger mold with a candle and then threw it away.

 

 

 

Almost six thousand miles to the north east, Maria heard her phone go off. She pulled it from her pocket. “Oh shit!”

“What?” Tony asked her.

“It’s from Banner!” She opened it up.

“What! Where is he!” Tony demanded, coming around the counter in one of the laboratories to look over her shoulder.

“He’s been captured…he somehow got a message out. Shit.”

Tony stared at the numbers. “Forty-seven, sixty-seven? That’s Argentina.”

“Yeah.” Maria studied the text and pulled a notepad to herself. “I’ll get a plane ready.”

“Jarvis! Spread the word around. Family field trip to South America to get Uncle Bruce back. Tell everyone to meet us in the hangar bay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've been gone for a long time. A lot of things have happened and I sunk myself into Dragon Age: Inquisition for awhile, with fanfic to go with it. 
> 
> I'm gonna try and start finishing some of these stories I've started. I hate leaving things unfinished.
> 
> (Props to those who know where the name 'Kibeth' comes from. The Speaking Bell is certainly tricky.)


	14. Longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky flickered from shadow to shadow, sometimes he was still less a sniper and more an assassin. Up close and personal, the rifle lay on the ground as the Winter Soldier drew two knives. He heard himself breath and that was it, sinking back into the familiar sensation. Comfortable as warm bathwater as his blades tore through body armor and into flesh, the rip and tear of tendon and crack of bone. The guard was torn apart, blood burst from her throat and he dropped her onto the ground. He moved to the next like a shadow, a wraith.  
> \-----------------------------------------------------

Her punch was short when she dodged in, plowing into his rib cage. Steve blinked at her, surprised.

Olivia froze, looking up at him. She moved her hands away. “Wrong?”

“No, no—just—Bucky taught you to throw a punch like he taught me to. I guess that surprised me,” Steve said musingly, looking down at his own fist. 

“How did you think he would have?” Olivia asked, carefully.

Steve shrugged. “I….am not sure. I guess I didn’t….know if it’d be like Bucky or like…the Winter Soldier.”

Olivia looked down. “How…different are they?” She asked the question quietly, almost a murmur.

Steve looked at the mat. “More than I’d though, less than you’d think.” Steve took a deep breath and shook himself. “Well! Anyway.”

“Okay,” Olivia said, taking a step back and readying herself again.

Steve came at her slowly. It was restrained—for him—so he could gauge her quickness. She dodged back from him, not entirely willing to risk getting within reach of him. And then suddenly changed direction, pivoting on her foot and rooting herself like a rock, bracing her arm and slamming her elbow back into Steve’s solar plexus. 

Her elbow skimmed his t-shirt as he slid back. 

“All right, I see—Bucky taught you to use a short, powerful stance to make up for your relative lack of size and brute force. When you attack, you’re supposed to immediately get back from grabbing range—so the strikes are more about precision—the solar plexus, the throat, ecetera.”

She nodded at him, watching him carefully as she shifted away a couple feet.

“Let’s try something new, okay? Ready?” He dodged forward.

Suddenly, she wasn’t thinking about this being Captain America. It was just someone running at her. She skipped back and braced herself for his strike—but he didn’t hit. Instead of throwing a punch, he made to grab the side of her head. She barely dropped under it, rolling her neck down and away. Her balance pitched and she stumbled to the side and crashed to the mat in a heap. She scrambled up, whirling around to get her eyes back on him. He moved like a train—and yet, was surprisingly fast for a man his size. If Bucky was thick and dense with muscle, Steve was corded and chained with it. 

She jerked, backpedaling from a brush of air at her side but couldn’t dodge the strike. The side of her head buzzed and her vision was fuzzy for a split second. She sent a hand out flying—she couldn’t see, she aimed where she _heard_ , as Bucky had taught her. Her knifed hand hit _something_ but she wasn’t sure what as the world suddenly spun upside down. She flipped through the air and landed on her back. She looked up at Steve, breath knocked out of her.

“You okay?” he asked, offering his hand.

“Ha, yes,” she managed, smiling as she took it to get up. She dusted herself off, a little self-conscious. “I’m not very good, as you can see. I only ever knew a bit—and Bucky was just being kind when I—“

“Olivia, everyone has to start _somewhere_. Even me.” He shrugged.

She nodded to him a little, looking a little overwhelmed by the sheer level of Steve-brand sincerity. She’d always thought there was no way the stories about Captain America were true. That, at heart, he was just a guy who wanted to do the right thing? That he remembered being weak and remembered the little guy and made time for those he could—she’d heard the stories, of course. But surely, they were just propaganda, fabricated—no one knew who Steve Rogers _really_ was, right?

No, as it turned out. He was exactly what the stories said. He didn’t try to hide. He was exactly who he said he was. Amazing. 

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yes!” She said eagerly and this time she balled her right fist in close to her side and ran at him. 

Her hair was sticking to her forehead with sweat when she dodged around Steve and slammed into his side to throw him off balance. He went over, grabbing her as he went. The momentum flipped her over him as he went down. She landed heavily next to him. She grabbed his arm but wasn’t quick enough to grab the other. He bounced up to his knee using one hand and then grappled her around to face him. She drove the ball of her foot into his chest. 

He grunted, startled into a laugh as he dragged a breath in and grabbed her by the shoulder and hip. He flipped her onto her front and pressed down in the middle of her back. 

“Aw, come on,” she huffed at the floor. “You know I can’t move your hand.”

“How would I know that?”

“Because you’re Captain America and I’m just…no one. Regular person.”

“I was just ‘no one’. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”

Olivia stilled on the mat. Her voice quieted a little as she thought on that. “But…why? I mean. I know I’ll fail. So…I mean, I’m not saying don’t try _anything ever_ but things where I _know_ I’ll fail—“

“You don’t know though, that you will. I mean—I’d be careful pinning down someone—in case they’re a spy, like Natasha. If I tried to spar her, she’d eventually just crawl up my arm and choke me out.” 

“But…” Olivia started and then trailed off. She felt Steve’s hand lift—like a band of steel—and she sat up on the mat. “But what’s the point if I don’t know how to do it so I don’t die?”

“If it’s between you and the bad guy, I say you fight for it—don’t make it easy for him to kill you. You seem like someone who’s been told you’re useless your whole life. It’s colored your entire perception of yourself, your brother and the world around you. They make you feel like you’re nothing. Like you’re helpless. That feeling of helplessness traps people into believing they can do nothing. But all it takes is one person to change something.”

She glanced at him, lifting an eyebrow. And yet…he looked so earnest that she felt a little guilty. She nodded a little to herself. 

The door to the gym opened. The two of them looked up to see Tony, Maria and Clint coming in.

“Cap, we found Bruce!”

Steve jumped up. “Where is he?”

Olivia got up too, following a little ways behind as he walked up to them.

Maria offered out her phone. “Argentina. We’re prepping a jet now. He’s been captured but got a message out. Rumlow is there.”

Steve stopped cold and looked at Maria. His eyes darkened. “I’ll be at the hangar bay in five.”

Clint chuckled a little. “Are you coming too, Ms Major?”

Olivia blinked, twisting her hands at the leap of her heart into her throat. Oh, wouldn’t that be amazing, to be included, to go along with them to—

“Who’s this?” Tony asked, chuckling. “S’okay, Birdbrain—I think we’ve got enough firepower without turning to the wanna-be Black Widow.”

Olivia stiffened, looking at the floor. Her face turned hot with shame.

“Let’s go, time’s wastin,” Tony said. “Bruce is probably bored by now.”

Steve looked at her after Tony walked out the door. “Keep working at it,” he said, raising his eyebrows. And then he turned and was gone. 

 

 

 

 

“Oh yes,” said the witch, smiling at Rumlow. 

“Fucking shit,” Rumlow grumbled. “It’s always something with this bitch. How do you like the new walls, Harkness?”

She smiled. It made her green eyes twinkle. “I’ve only ever seen them in one place here. Out in the Beyond, they’re more common, boy.”

“More common? They came from fucking _space_.”

“Goodness, all the strange things you’ve seen today.” She did not look overly bothered, secured mid-air as she was and netted in by the flexible holonetting that Thor would recognize. They buzzed on her flesh but the woman paid them no mind. She had green eyes, toffee-colored hair. But something about her gaze was heavy, like an old locked door. 

Rumlow glared at her. “I’ve got more important things to do than deal with one of your tantrums. So shut the _fuck_ up.” He waved to the tech. “Turn all the lights off and if she keeps talking, cut off the air supply so she passes out. I’m done. If Doctor Bontrager didn’t want her so much, I’d kill her myself.”

“When will he arrive, sir?”

Rumlow shook his head. “No fucking clue. Whenever he can get across the border. He said he’s still a week out. And—“

The lights flickered above them.

“What the fuck was that?” Landon asked.

Everyone else looked around.

Except Agatha Harkness. She looked _up_. “Sounds like you have visitors to indulge, Brock?”

Somewhere above, there was a _whhhoooom_ sound.

Rumlow hit his headset. “What am I hearing?”

“Someone’s trying to land, sir! It’s—“

The feed cut out.

“Shit.” Rumlow took off.

“You all better hurry,” Harkness said and then furrowed her eyebrows at the ceiling. She felt someone. Someone _powerful_ but uncontrolled, someone brimming with potential. But untapped, unfocused. 

She reached out, closing her eyes to find that bright and brimming mind, shining beautiful reds and purples. It flexed around her like an aurora. The witch was young and mostly untrained. There was a darkness in her but not malice. 

The woman was near-frantic, still not entirely used to combat and still uncertain of her place among the rest.

The rest. Who were the rest? Agatha didn’t want to presume, though she had a good idea who was knocking at the door. It was lucky that they’d captured Banner—for her anyway, not for him, of course—but him being there and known to some of these people let her wax and turn, slide around them and make the suggestion, to _ask_ , to really _think_ on the why, to indulge those _doubts_. She’d hardly had to nudge the boy, he was nearly to the point on his own. 

And just like the stones had told her—there was another witch about.

This other witch suddenly felt a sharp _pierce_ of instinct, whirling around and raising her hands—

 

 

The man opened fire in her face—her barrier deflected it, shattering the bullets and sent them ricocheting back. Through the haze of battle, she sat Steve go flying over a jeep and someone fired a gun—it was bright and sparking. Like the Tesseract and the Mind Scepter had been—it burned into Steve’s shield, flaring red and hot.

Bucky’s mind zoned in like a movie camera—loud and close—his hand moved automatically over the long-range rifle. It was familiar, a pure example of muscle memory, pulling back on the slide and breathing in, exhaling as he lowered his eyes and then—

The man with the energy weapon was slammed back. His head exploded when he hit the ground.

And then...something strange happened. 

Wanda staggered and stopped, holding her hands out in front of her. It felt like a dozen eyes had just opened in the back of her head. Like she was suddenly aware of too many things. Like there was a bright dam of light and behind it was something huge and powerful but curious. There was no malice, just interest. She broke out in a sweat, dizzy and then—

Then someone grabbed her, whirling her around and all she could smell was the grit of titanium and the musk of leather. And blood. She heard him grunt and then the crack of—

Wanda jerked and looked up. “Bucky!”

He was wrapped around her, protecting her from gunfire. His arm wound back, zapping as the American turned. “You all right!” He called to her, reaching out a hand. “Come on!”

Wanda nodded and took it. They ran a few steps together and then both of them let go. “I felt something in my head. Something strange!” She called to him as they raced up to one of the docking bays. 

Above ground was some kind of dummy factory. It was mostly empty but there were doors everywhere and a lot of expensive equipment. 

The others were at a large sliding metal gate, Natasha was working the lock.

“You all right!” Clint called to them as Bucky and Wanda approached.

“We need to be careful!” Wanda told them, sliding to a stop. “I felt something—there’s someone here with power—something like me.”

“For all we know it could be like that bitch back in Indiana,” Sam said. He looked at Bucky.

“What.” Bucky huffed at him. 

“Just be careful, man,” Sam said, shrugging. He watched Bucky glance down and away, turning aside.

“Bucky, you’re bleeding,” Wanda said. “Ah, you were shot—because of—I’m sorry.” She touched his body armor and the Winter Soldier became very, very still. He stared down at her as she nervously pulled her hair away from the sweat on her face. There was blood smudged across her throat and forehead but her eyes honed in on him and her touch stayed light and gentle. The mist, that red vapor smoked over his side and shoulder. The bullets wiggled themselves out and jumped to the ground. “I can’t seal it completely—but it is older, in a way.”

“Thank you,” Bucky murmured quietly, looking a little uncomfortable. 

“Got it,” Natasha announced. The door beeped and opened. 

Tony landed behind them in the hangar. “Geez, doing all the heavy lifting and you’re all down here. Anyone else feel like earning their pay today?”

“Who is it that pays us?” Natasha wanted to know as Tony hurried to catch up to her. “Cause I don’t think it’s you.”

“It might be Pepper,” Tony admitted.

“Wait, _is_ it Pepper that pays us?” Clint asked as they hurried into the hallways. “Cause SHIELD worked for the government and we used to get paid through them. But now SHIELD is gone—“

“Lucky for you, the Avengers have corporate sponsorship,” Tony told him.

“Lucky for you Thor hasn’t asked for his share,” Steve said, smashing open a locked door. Some goons blocked them off with guns and Steve let his shield make short work of them. 

“I bet he doesn’t know,” Natasha said.

“What’s he gonna do with a bunch of earth money, anyway?” Tony said, something giving his voice a terse edge, the more empty rooms they found.

“He _does_ like cake a lot. And electronics. He took some back to Asgard,” Sam told them.

“Well, maybe he should take us with him sometime—goddammit, where the fuck _is he?!_ ” Tony opened his palm and blasted a set of double-doors off their hinges.

Bullets came out like a blast of rain. Everywhere, the Iron Man suit sparked and pinged and then there was a ripple of air in front of him, a flicker of red vapor, and the bullets stopped, whirled around and went zinging back at their guns. Natasha, Sam and Clint moved in, striking hard and fast, then flitting away. Steve waded into the thick of it, a solid freight train juggernaut of raw power. 

Bucky flickered from shadow to shadow, sometimes he was still less a sniper and more an assassin. Up close and personal, the rifle lay on the ground as the Winter Soldier drew two knives. He heard himself breath and that was it, sinking back into the familiar sensation. Comfortable as warm bathwater as his blades tore through body armor and into flesh, the rip and tear of tendon and crack of bone. The guard was torn apart, blood burst from her throat and he dropped her onto the ground. He moved to the next like a shadow, a wraith. 

“Wanda—do you know where their generator might be?” Steve called over to her.

“If we can shut it down—it’ll take care of some of these doors,” Natasha added.

Wanda settled herself, took a deep breath and spread her consciousness over the base. She felt flares of color as Steve and Bucky planted themselves on either side of her to protect her so she could focus.

The floor dropped away as all the images she associated with generators flew by in her head until one that was familiar flared. She looked east. “Natalia! The generator is two hundred paces northeast, down three flights of stairs!” 

Tony didn’t bother waiting. He raised his palm and blasted a massive hole through the building.

“Tony! Holy shit!” Clint burst out, leaping away from the beams. “Get a hold of yourself, man! Shit!”

Tony ignored them. It was rare to see him so focused, so dead set on something. He’d been searching for Bruce for months, just like Natasha—only Pepper knew how late he stayed up on the darkweb, looking for any possible hits on his filters. Tony grabbed Natasha around the waist and flew through the hole he’d made.

Steve frowned. “Stay together,” he told the others. “We don’t need anyone running off—Wanda said there was something dangerous here. If it’s like that woman we met at the laboratory—we don’t want to separate.”

“Hey, Cap! Good to see you!”

Bucky twitched. 

Rumlow appeared at the end of the hallway. “Here for Banner, huh? How’d you find out he was here?”

“Ah, this sumbitch again,” Sam scowled. 

Steve stepped away from Wanda, passing Clint so he could stand in front of the others. “Rumlow. Fancy meeting you here.”

“Oh and hey, the Asset is with you. Hey, _Bucky_ , how are you? Do you remember me?”

Bucky bristled, shoulders tightening. He growled.

“Bucky,” Steve said, voice even but eyes fixed on Rumlow. “I know what I just said about sticking together—but take Sam, Wanda and Clint and go.”

“I dunno, Cap—I wouldn’t mind another crack at this asshole,” Sam told him.

“We’re here for Banner,” Steve reminded him. “Rumlow will just slow us down.”

Something exploded, rocking the foundations of the building and then the lights went out.

“Go,” Steve said and threw his shield.

Sam scowled but obeyed, waving to Bucky so the assassin would come with him. Clint took the lead, scouting ahead as Bucky watched their backs. Wanda spread her consciousness through the base. She’d never met Bruce Banner himself, just the Hulk—and even then, she’d only seen him from afar. 

There was another rumble from somewhere below as the emergency lights flickered on. 

Bucky tried not to see the flashes of red light—it reminded him of something though he wasn’t sure—

_Sergeant Barnes, James; serial number--_

Right. The base in Italy. 

A goon tried to jump him and Bucky tore him apart, ripping his arm from his socket and crushing his throat. “We need to go down two levels. Hydra bases are all set up pretty much the same. The detention block is below ground.”

“Suppose you’d know.” Sam shrugged and kicked open a door to the nearest stairwell. Clint zipped through first, taking out two guards with his bow. “Wanda—can you look through the walls and see what’s beyond?”

“Yes, I can.” She hurried ahead of the other men to Clint’s side. She laid her palm flat on the wall and closed her eyes to focus. Her consciousness spread again, flooding like water over the floor beyond. “There are fifteen guards, a wing of cells. One of them is occupied. There is someone there with him.”

“You’re invaluable, Wanda,” Clint beamed. “Righto—now let us do a little hard work here for you.”

Wanda chuckled a little. “Pietro is going to like you when he can fight beside you again.”

Clint grinned and then opened the door. He dodged out. Sam followed. Bucky glanced at her, opened his mouth to say something and then seemed to change his mind. He followed Sam. Wanda raced behind him, watching their backs. 

The men took care of the guards in front of them and Wanda took care of the five who tried to flank them. She trapped them in a net of red mist, binding them together and throwing them into the stairwell. 

Bucky took the lead silently. He ripped the door to the cell block right off its hinges and threw it. His vision was starting to tunnel.

“Hey—you okay?” Clint asked, carefully out of arm’s reach. His voice cut through the fog.

Bucky looked at the floor and took a deep breath, something cold and shuddery went through him. He nodded, glancing sidelong at Clint.

The archer clapped his shoulder (carefully). “We’re good, man. You’re still with us.”

Bucky nodded a little again and let Clint take the lead into the cell block. Sam followed him. He waited for Wanda before going after them. Many of the cells were empty—but one.

The observation room was locked. Sam slammed the door open. To the group’s immediate left, a young man was standing in front of the door to a cell with clear walls, like glass. Behind it—

“Bruce!” Clint cried out. 

“Don’t hurt him!” the young man cried out, raising a gun. “You can’t kill him!”

“Wait, Smith, no! They’re my friends!” Bruce staggered up.

“Holy shit, Bruce,” Clint said, urging the young man aside to look over the door. “You look terrible.”

“I feel worse.”

“Stand aside, kid,” Sam told the young man.

Wanda looked at the young man. “You are Smith, yes? You were the one who sent the message.”

The boy blinked. “I…yes. Are you the Avengers?”

“Yeah, man, don’t you recognize us?” Sam told him. 

“How do you open this door?” Clint turned to look at Bucky, raising his eyebrows expectantly as the assassin melted out of a shadow.

Something in Smith’s face went milk pale. “…the Winter Soldier.”

Bucky ignored it, walking over to the console and pressing a couple buttons. 

The seal on the room breathed and the door unlocked. Clint went through it, helping Bruce stand. 

“Can you walk, Bruce?”

“I’ll be fine,” the scientist said, staggering out with Clint. “Smith—you should come with us. They’ll kill you if they find out you were the leak.”

The young man nodded, lowering his gun. His eyes kept flickering over to Bucky, warily. 

“Mister Banner, I’m Wanda Maximoff. I believe when we met originally, you were…the Hulk.”

“I remember you. And your brother.” Bruce looked at them, doing a slight double-take at Bucky. “Did anyone else come?”

“Tony and Natasha went to take out the generator. Steve stayed behind to deal with Rumlow,” Clint said, helping Bruce into the hallway. He was barefoot, looking somehow frail.

Down the hallway, a door was blown off its hinges. Bucky and Wanda barged ahead, the Winter Soldier raising his rifle and the Scarlet Witch creating a shield of red vapor. But no soldiers came through the door. Not even thugs or scientists.

It was a woman. It was difficult to tell her age but her hair was light brown and her eyes were bright and glowing. 

“Wait! Harkness—it’s Harkness,” said Smith.

“Who?” Sam asked, drawing his guns.

Wanda let her shield fall. “Wait…she’s the one…I…”

“Hello,” the woman said briskly, walking towards them in the red-lit hallway. “You must be the one I felt.” The woman made to walk right up to Wanda—catching how the Winter Soldier stepped closer to Wanda. “Oh, no fear from me, young man. She wouldn’t need help.”

“What?” Wanda asked.

“Who are you?” Clint demanded tersely.

“She’s the other prisoner,” Smith said.

“I am Agatha Harkness,” said the woman, inclining her head to them politely. “You may call me Atha—Agatha is such a harsh name. I’m coming with you.”

“Uh, who is this again?” Sam said. “Should we know this woman?”

“You wouldn’t, young man. But you, Miss Maximoff—you felt my presence, did you not?”

“I…did,” Wanda admitted.

“Better to be with one’s own kind than to stay locked up here for Hydra’s science experiments. Powers gather, my friends. Let us go.”

Bucky looked at Wanda and waited for her nod of confirmation before nodding to Harkness and striding ahead of them. 

 

 

They heard Rumlow and Steve before they found them. Mostly because there was some sort of explosion. The hallway where they’d left Steve ignited ahead of them. There were yells and crashes and a bright sharp cry of surprise and pain—

Bucky was off like a shot, wordlessly taking off at a sprint.

“Barnes!” Clint yelled but the assassin didn’t turn around. He vanished. “Shit.”

“We should go after him!” Wanda said, starting forward at a run. Sam went with her.

“They’ll be all right,” Harkness said as Clint slapped his palm against his forehead. “We should really find the prisoner lockup. I’d like my cane back.”

Clint did a double-take at her. “What?”

“It can’t be far,” Harkness said and she glanced at Smith. “You’d know where it is, right? Banner’s things are there too.”

Smith nodded. “Y-yeah…I know where it is.”

“Let’s go then.”

Clint stared at her like she’d grown a second head, holding up Bruce. “Uh. No? We gotta get out of here.”

“Don’t worry, Mister Barton, I can keep us safe and then we’ll rejoin your friends. Lead on, Smith. Is that your name or is that simply the one Hydra gave you? Do you have a first name?”

Smith glanced at the witch, still looking wary. “I do…’Smith’ was what Hydra had me assume after I was taken in to work for them.”

“Do you remember your real name?” Harkness asked him.

“Yes,” said Smith quietly, looking away from her and turning a corner.

“Good,” she told him and glanced behind her. “How is Mister Banner?”

Clint looked at Bruce. He was filthy and covered in sweat and blood. “He looks kinda tired.”

“I’m fine,” Bruce managed, wheezing a little. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” said Harkness and she turned back. “Stay behind me, please.”

A group of goons rounded the corner. Smith recoiled. Clint flipped his bow like a staff. Atha stepped forward and raised her palm. There was a swirl of air around her and then there was a burst, like an implosion of particles and oxygen. There was a green flash and the goons—

One yelled before he and his fellows were slammed back down the hallway, smashing into the concrete wall about a hundred feet from the witch. Two of them splattered apart inside their body armor.

Atha flicked her fingers and simply started walking again.

Clint stared at the witch and then looked at Bruce. The scientist straightened a bit, feeling a pulse of strength that was from the Hulk, bristling inside him at the display of power. It helped him gain his feet but then he took careful breaths to keep calm. His body was preparing to fight on instinct. He had to stay in control. He _must_.

Smith hurried ahead of them when he saw the prisoner lockup. The desk was unmanned and so he hopped over the counter, scrambling at the desk for keys. There were none. Agatha narrowed her eyes, flicking her hand again and watched the locks turn hot and red, falling apart. Smith went in and grabbed all their things in a bundle. She took them so he could hop the counter again. She flipped her cane in her fist. Smith stuffed the rest of their belongings in his satchel.

“There we are,” said Agatha. “Perfect. Let’s go.”

 

 

 

Steve slammed through the wall, flipping back onto his feet as Rumlow came through after him. The man took a stout beating, Steve had to give him credit for that. The taunts were getting old fast—though Steve would have preferred them to whatever the hell Rumlow pulled from his hip and threw. It hit his shield and _stuck_ to it—then exploded. Fire blasted up into his face, throwing him back again. 

“Won’t it be funny when we get him again, Steve.”

Steve grunted, pushing a lump on concrete off of his back. “Over my dead body.”

“That’s why I’m here, Rogers. You two were the prototypes to creating something better. Passable work. But I want it more than _Bucky_ ever did. Hydra gave him _everything_ and he didn’t want it. But I do, Rogers. What do you suppose he’ll—“

There was a streak of darkness as Bucky slammed into him from the side. Steve heard the solid punch from Bucky’s metal fist meeting flesh. And then he smashed Rumlow up against the crumbling wall, hand on his throat.

Steve couldn’t help but smile. “Ah, you had a question for Bucky?”

Rumlow spit at him. “Well, well, Barnes—back so soon? It’s almost like you _can’t help it_.”

Bucky growled, grip tightening.

“Yeah, good work, sport,” Rumlow said. “Hey, tell me if this sounds familiar: _zhelaniye_.”

Bucky jerked, tensing up all over.

“ _Rzhavyy_.”

“Bucky?” Steve said, eyes narrowing and starting forward. 

“ _Semnadstat_.”

Bucky shook himself, looking away from Rumlow. 

_Longing, Rusted, Seventeen, Daybreak, Furnace, Nine, Benign, One, Freight Car._

_Zhelaniya, Rzhavyy, Semnadstat, Rassvet, Pech, Devyat, dobroserdechnyy, vozvrashcheniya na rodinu, Odin, Gruzovoy vagon_. 

Originally battened to him in Russian, then in English. It took a long time. A long, _long_ time.

He smashed his fist into Rumlow’s cheek, feeling it splinter.

“Oh,” said Brock, chuckling through the blood in his teeth. “Has Wanda been helping you? Boy, you think you have it rough—do you know what Hydra did to _her_ and the blond fuck—her brother. I suppose she would be best to help you—she knows all about getting into people’s heads, doesn’t she, _Bucky_.” And then he smiled. “Speak of the devil.” He pulled out another explosive and threw it behind Bucky just as Wanda and Sam barreled through the doorway. 

Steve threw his shield. It hit the device with a long _boooong_ and stuck to it. The shield went flipping into the wall and exploded.

Bucky curled inward, losing hold of Rumlow in the fire and heat—and then something grabbed him by the arms, yanking him to the side. When the world stopped roaring, Bucky found himself up against the far wall. Steve was in front of him, shielding him with his body. And in front of Steve, a wall of red vapor had shielded them from debris and fire. 

“Shit,” Sam said. “Where’d he go?”

Wanda hurried up to Steve. “Are you all right? Bucky? Are you—“

“Those were part of the trigger-lines. The. The word combinations—it was like a…a compulsion. Like a trap.”

“Yes, they were,” Wanda agreed, walking around Steve, ignoring the super soldier’s eye on her. She touched Bucky’s metal arm. “But you resisted it, Bucky. They don’t control you anymore.”

“I…didn’t want them to…” Bucky managed, taking a rough breath. “I…”

“You didn’t have any choice, Bucky. He used it against you because cruel men like Rumlow think you are weak. But you’re not.”

Bucky looked at her under the tangled mess of sweaty hair. He went still as stone when she raised her fingers and gently moved his hair out of his eyes. “You’re not,” she repeated. 

It was strange how she could make them feel like the only two people that existed as a Hydra base burned around them. He could feel Steve staring at them. Bucky nodded a little, looking aside from the intensity of her gaze. 

And with that, she turned around as Clint came through the wall with Bruce.

“Wanda, can you extinguish the fires?” Harkness asked, striding in with her cane. 

Wanda blinked. “I…I don’t…I can’t control the fire.”

“You don’t need to control the fire. You can create barriers, yes?”

“Yes, I can…”

“Then create one. Around the fire.” The strange woman put her hands on her hips.

Wanda hesitated, looking at Steve uncertainly.

“Who is this?” Steve asked, looking to Sam.

“Apparently, another one of Rumlow’s prisoners.”

“Go on, Wanda. You can do it,” the woman said, waving a hand dismissively.

Wanda lifted her palm, flexing her power over the room. It took her a few tries to encase the fire properly. But then, she didn’t need to touch it at all. Just smother it. The fires died around them as the barrier encased and choked it. Someone shuddered in the absolute darkness. No one said anything.

Agatha tapped her cane and a small light began to glow. Something rumbled somewhere in the building. 

“We should get out of here,” said Smith, “before the blast shields are triggered. It will trap us in here.”

“If they think blast shields will stop us then they’ve apparently never met us,” Clint said, pulling out a flashlight and clipping it to his shoulder. 

“Do you have a ride out of here, Captain Rogers,” Harkness asked.

“Uh, who are you again?” Steve asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Agatha Harkness,” she said. “Now, more questions later, Captain Rogers. We need to go. Mister Smith is not wrong.”

There was an explosion somewhere below them. It shook the room. And then, suddenly, Tony shot up into the hallway through the floor about thirty feet ahead of them, holding Natasha. 

The spy shouted: “We gotta go! There are explosives under the base!”

“Did you find him?!” Tony shouted, blasting debris as the floor above groaned and went lopsided. 

“Yeah, we got him!” Clint yelled back. He felt something in Banner’s grip tighten. 

Steve urged the others to run ahead as Tony blasted a wall out. Bright, sharp daylight flooded into the smoke-filled corridor as they burst into clean air. Maria had the jet going already, pivoting on the tarmac around scorch marks and corpses all wearing Hydra gear. 

It was a blind run to the plane as the trees behind them caught fire and a blast rocked the ground. Smith helped Clint with Bruce as the hatch closed and Maria Hill got them into the air. 

Tony instantly whirled around, mask coming off. “Bruce?”

Bruce looked at him as Clint carefully lowered him to the floor. “Good timing.”

“You’re still in one piece—good, I—are you hurt? Maria, double-time it back.”

“I’m fine, Tony.”

“Bullshit,” Tony said as his suit collapsed to free his hands. 

Natasha didn’t meet his eyes as she knelt to Bruce, checking him for wounds. She kept looking at the blood on him. His hair was sticking to his neck with sweat and soot. “You all right?” she asked quietly, almost under her breath.

Bruce glanced aside too. “A little hungry,” he said faintly and tried half a smile. He felt Natasha hesitate in her touch before she vanished to bring him a bottle of water and some crackers.

Tony sat beside him on the floor, grumbling and generally acting like a grumpy guard dog. It made Steve smile a little as he turned to look for Bucky. His friend was sitting by the window. He was rocking back and forth a tiny bit as he stared out of it. Wanda was hesitating at the back of the plane, watching Bucky but not sure if she should approach. She seemed to feel Steve’s gaze and when she met his eyes, she glanced down. The woman turned away to sit on the other side of walkway, staring out the window.

“So, we went in for one and came back with three. Who are you two?” Tony wanted to know, looking over Harkness suspiciously.

“Atha Harkness, Mister Stark.”

“Okay—do you recognize us or did the kid tell you who we all were or what?” Clint asked.

“Smith didn’t say a word about any of you—except for his respect for Mister Banner.”

“Smith?” Tony said, looking at the young man. “You got a first name to go with that?”

“I, uh…” Smith hesitated, swallowing hard. “I—“

“He helped me,” Bruce said. “His family has been Hydra a couple generations. Sounds like he didn’t have much of a choice.”

Tony snorted.

“So what’s your name, son?” Steve asked him.

“You don’t have to be Smith anymore,” Agatha told him.

The young man shifted uneasily. “Smith was the name Hydra had me use. My actual name is…Pines. Rodrick Pines. Um. You can call me Rick. I mean. If you want to.”

“All right, Rick,” said Steve. “We owe you our thanks for helping Bruce. You can stay with us and we’ll help protect you. I can’t imagine Rumlow will be too happy if he finds out you betrayed him.”

The young man looked at the floor. “Probably not.”

“Good for you, man,” Sam said encouragingly. “Fuck them, right.”

“Uh….yeah,” Rick said, almost carefully—as if afraid Hydra might be listening.

Sam glanced over at Steve. “So, you fought Rumlow—does he _talk_ a lot during fights or what? He would not shut the hell up when I fought him in DC. Was he that chatty with you?”

Steve snorted on a laugh. “Well…..actually, yes. He….he _did_ talk a lot. Now that you mention it.”

“What did he talk about?” Bucky asked, voice low and flat, still staring at the window. 

Steve took a slow breath, looking around at the others before saying, “….we’ll talk about that when we get to New York.”

Agatha's eyes brightened. "New York! I haven't been to New York in _ages_."  
-  
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	15. Knowledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So they take someone who _wants_ to fight in order to protect. Who doesn’t _like_ to kill but can.” Pietro sauntered up to them, nodding to them both. “Because the desire to protect someone else is either in you or it isn’t. That can’t be erased. But _who_ they will to protect: _that_ can be changed.”
> 
> “I suppose our memories are like pages in a book,” Natasha mused, leaning against the wall. “If you open a memory and write in some notes or erase a word here and there—your perspective changes.”  
> \----------------------------------------------

“Be careful of the windows.”

Olivia furrowed her eyebrows at her reflection. “What?”

“The windows! The windows! The—“

 

Olivia jumped awake, hearing the hangar bay doors open. She scrambled up from the desk, scattering papers. She whirled around to grab them, pointing severely at Alistair. “You let me fall asleep!”

Alistair beeped, presumably in apology.

She flipped on the lights and hurried out to the hangar bay doors.

“Olivia!” Steve Rogers called out, pointing to his ear and then to the building. “Call the medics down!”

She whirled around, sprinting back into the building and hitting the control panel. “Jarvis! They’re back—we need medical staff!”

“Is Mister Stark injured?” Jarvis asked, sounding oddly concerned for a robot voice. Thirteen floors above, the medic bay Status-light over the control desk turned from Blue (Mission In Progress) to Orange (Mission Return) to Red (Medics to Point).

“I—I don’t know, Jarvis.” She turned back and raced to the tarmac just as Hawkeye and Iron Man came through the gates. They were carrying someone between them. He was underfed, but the muscle that shifted under his skin was robust. He had dark, unruly hair and he was filthy with dirt, soot and blood.

“Doctor Banner, it is good to see you alive, sir,” Jarvis said from the ceiling, sounding relieved. “The medics are at the elevator to meet you, sir.”

Olivia backed up to let the superheroes go by. Doctor Banner—Bruce Banner. The Hulk. They’d saved him from wherever he’d been. Bucky walked up but he was deep in quiet conversation with the Scarlet Witch—Ms Maximoff. 

Sam Wilson approached her with a nervous-looking young man she didn’t know. “Got some scratches on it. Should be fine though,” Sam said, standing to the side of the gear drop station. He pressed in a clasp and the wingpack came apart. Olivia took it carefully to her worktable (provided by Pepper about an hour ago) to clean and examine. “And Clint had to help with Bruce, so here’s his bow and quiver. Nat’s probably gonna have to drop off her heat knives.”

“Are you…all okay?” Olivia asked, softer.

“Oh yeah,” Sam said with a shrug. He waved as he walked away with the young man. “Cap’s back there in the plane. He’s comin.”

Natasha and Steve were walking up with a strange-looking woman. She had toffee-colored hair and looked...neither young nor old. Some strange place inbetween but…not. Like Clint Barton, sort of. Natasha veered to the left, pulling out her thermal knives to hand in for inspection. “Needs a new crystal insert,” Natasha said. “Call me if we’re out—I can make arrangements to get some elsewhere.”

Olivia nodded, unable to help but look at Steve when he passed, but the Captain didn’t stop to drop his shield off. He kept walking, looking troubled.

The strange woman didn’t. She stopped, watching Natasha drop off her knives. 

Olivia shifted in place under that heavy gaze. It made her head feel prickly, the way the woman looked at her. It was like the tingling she got during thunderstorms, like she needed to stretch out her skull. She reached up to the back of her head, pulling on her own hair. Natasha seemed to notice and glanced at the strange woman, then back at Olivia. 

“You were one of the ones who helped Mister Barnes in Indiana, weren’t you?”

Olivia tensed a little, looking between the woman and Natasha. “Uh, well….yes. I guess so.”

“You met someone there with power—someone that wasn’t Wanda,” said the woman, looking at Natasha.

“We did,” said Black Widow, furrowing her eyebrows. “How did you know about that?”

“I see many things. I don’t hide this. It was why Hydra came for me in the first place.” 

“So what do you see, Ms Harkness?” Natasha asked, a challenging lock in her jaw. 

“A very lonely little girl, taught to kill as other girls are taught to simper. A very talented young lady, strong and fast and silent. Big brother James taught you once. He’s why your American accent is so good, Ms Romanov.”

“Not bad,” Natasha said slowly, peering at her. 

“But you,” Harkness said, looking harder at Olivia. “You didn’t see anything. All there was, was darkness.”

Olivia looked away. “I’m afraid of the dark.”

“Was she looking for your fears?”

Natasha stepped between them. “Not the place for this discussion, Harkness.”

“You don’t trust me?” Harkness asked, smiling.

“No.”

The witch winked. “Good.” 

Natasha watched her walk away, arms crossed. “I’ll be back down in a couple hours,” the spy said quietly before stalking after Harkness.

Olivia watched her go and then looked down at her hands. The others had _seen_ things? She didn’t remember seeing anything when Sebasilla had spoken to her. When Wanda had looked in her head, she’d seemed curious but not alarmed. She hadn’t said anything about what her brother had seen. So they had all seen something? 

Alistair wheeled over, spinning to her. 

“Ah, right. Work to do.” She picked up Sam’s gear and put it on its stand so Alistair could scan it. 

She paused again and turned around and looked up at the ceiling. “Uh, Jarvis?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

It was so weird hearing that disjointed voice without a source. She still found herself looking at the ceiling when Jarvis spoke. “I, uh—is it okay if I play music?”

“Of course, ma’am,” Jarvis said, sounding curious. 

“I just….I’m not sure if…I’m going to, I dunno….bother someone. Or bother you? Can you hear…uh…I dunno—everything that happens here?”

“I can and do maintain records of the residents of the Compound, Miss Major.”

Olivia looked uncertain. “It….I guess it seems….” She laughed softly. “I feel really silly.”

“It often takes new residents time to get used to me, Miss Major.”

She laughed again. “Sorry. Thank you though, Jarvis. You’re really nice. I mean, for a computer voice?”

“Mister Stark took a great deal of time and effort when I was built.”

Olivia’s smile faded. “So….he programmed you this way. I mean—he did it by himself?”

“He did, Miss Major.”

“Even creating your voice?”

“My records indicate that he spent six months, fourteen days, three hours and two minutes creating my voice.”

“Wow….” Olivia murmured softly and looked down at the floor. “That’s….that means he’s completely aware that he’s alone.”

Jarvis was silent for a moment before he said, almost softer, “Yes. Very sad knowledge sometimes, I’m afraid, Miss Major.”

Olivia tugged on her hair again. “Poor guy—ha, I almost feel sorry for him.” She looked around the workshop. “But I suppose he gets to cry in an Iron Man suit.”

Jarvis didn’t answer.

Olivia felt a flicker of shame. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said that.”

The voice stayed quiet and Olivia refocused on working. _Its just a voice. Why are you getting worked up about something you said to a voice? Stark built it so he could pretend someone cared about him? He programmed it to worry—or, to sound worried. That’s…but it’s not real. It’s not real._ She grabbed her phone and turned on music, a movie soundtrack full of bohemian smoke and adventure.

 

 

 

“Pietro!” Wanda burst out, seeing her brother up and waiting by the elevator. “I did not know you were released!”

“You were on a mission?”

“Yes, we found Doctor Banner in Argentina. We went to collect him.” She watched Pietro’s eyes wander up to her left, where Bucky was standing. She glanced up too. “This is the…” she hesitated, suddenly. “He’s Bucky Barnes, Captain Roger’s best friend.”

“The Soldier?” Pietro said, more quietly, eyes narrowing at Bucky.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed back.

“The Winter Soldier, yes,” Wanda said, softer.

“Heard of me, I suppose,” Bucky said, quietly.

“Heard of you, yes. I’ve never seen you, of course. But from the time we were taken by Hydra, we heard the stories about you.”

“Pietro,” Wanda said, tone flat and eyes hardening.

“They say you were the most efficient killer any of them had ever met,” Pietro continued, crossing his arms and smiling.

Nothing in Bucky’s expression changed. Wanda sensed a breath rippling through him and then he was still. “Then they never met me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because if I was that efficient, they’d be dead, I suppose.” Bucky shrugged, eyes still blank and still.

Pietro studied him for a moment and smiled again. “Fair enough.”

“Pietro!” Steve exclaimed as he came through the door, hurrying up to Bucky and Wanda. “It’s good to see you on your feet!” He offered his palm.

Pietro looked at Steve for a moment and then nodded. “Thank you, Captain.” He stepped into Steve to shake his hand.

Wanda _felt_ Bucky’s focus shift, watching Pietro closely as he moved. “Bucky—you should go to the medic bay.”

Bucky blinked and looked down at her. 

“You were shot,” she reminded him.

Bucky reached to his side, touching his body armor and feeling the three holes. “You fixed it.”

“I made it older. It should still be checked, Bucky. Come—this way. This compound is very large and confusing.”

Bucky hesitated, glancing at Steve. Of course the bastard’s blue eyes twinkled and he smiled. “Go on, Bucky. She won’t bite.”

Pietro watched them walk away, frowning. “He’s the one who is all fucked in the head, yes?”

“Your sister helped him,” Steve said, pointedly raising his eyebrows. 

“If he puts a hand on her—“

“Bucky wouldn’t do that.”

“Yes, but the Winter Soldier might and I doubt you’ve heard the same stories about him that I have, Captain Rogers.”

Steve looked at the floor and sighed. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Bucky is getting his mind back together. She helped him. I truly don’t think he would harm her. Besides, I’m not standing here demanding she not look in his head or I’ll kill _her_. I wouldn’t threaten your sister. So don’t threaten my brother. We’re on the same side.” He started working his gloves off. “Besides, Wanda could handle Bucky if she had to. She’s not a child. That being said, if you attack Bucky unprovoked, you’ll answer to me.”

“Noted, Captain.” Pietro watched Steve pocket his gloves, holding his mask in his hand. “Where is Barton?”

Steve glanced at him. “He’s helping Stark get Banner upstairs. The medics should have met them here at the elevator.”

“I must have just missed him.” Something flickered across Pietro’s face, looking in the direction his sister had gone with Barnes. “I suppose I will go to the medical bay.”

 

 

In under fifteen minutes, Bruce went from tarmac to hospital bed. He was cleaned up by a couple of nurses in scrubs. Two of the male ones helped him get into a hospital gown and got an IV into his arm. He laid back in the bed. 

Here he was, hardly a year and he was right back where he’d started. Sheltering with the Avengers and, by extension, Tony. Because he was so goddamn stupid when he’d thought he could replicate what the greatest minds in the last fifty years had been trying to recreate. Abraham Erskine’s formula that turned sickly Steve Rogers into Captain America. And now he was a _monster_. With no control. No fucking control. That whole goddamn village…they were all dead. Dead. Because of _him_.

Bruce grit his teeth, curling one fist into the blanket. He couldn’t give in to rage, so it came out in tears instead. He was totally silent, breathing harshly through his teeth so he could keep ahold of himself. He couldn’t go anywhere alone because people died wherever he passed. So was he supposed to choose voluntary imprisonment? Stark Tower or the Avengers compound wasn’t a terrible place to live, after all. But...he had to give up all his freedom. Again. 

“All I saw was a puzzle,” Bruce said, quietly. He looked up from the blanket. 

Tony had slipped into the room alone. He crossed his arms, looking unimpressed. “All I saw was, you almost died.”

“I didn’t ask you to look for me.”

Tony scowled. “God forbid someone do that.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “You’re one to talk.”

Tony made a face at him as he walked over, pulling the doctor’s stool over from a desk and sitting by Bruce. “I know you have some control at times when you’re the Other Guy.”

“It’s intermittent. I’ve been trying to figure out the patterns but there doesn’t seem to be any. Sometimes I can, sometimes I can’t. Mostly, I can’t.”

Tony looked thoughtful. “But sometimes you _can_. How can we get ahold of Thor?”

“Doctor Foster, I imagine.”

“What if we invite Thor here to help us figure it out?”

“Tony,” Bruce said, starting to shake his head.

“Thor and I could make sure you didn’t go berserk. He’s pretty tough and he _loves_ fighting. I bet he would be thrilled, nay—honored—to be asked.”

Bruce chuckled, raising his eyebrows.

“It can’t hurt to try it, right?”

Bruce looked at the IV in his arm. “….I suppose so.”

“It’ll be fun,” Tony promised, smirking.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said, softly.

Tony’s smile softened a little and he reached to the counter to pour a glass of water, holding it out stubbornly until Bruce ruefully took it. 

“I figure you’ll have to accept it eventually,” Tony said quietly, watching Bruce—all wrecked to shit. He’d clearly been tortured. People had died again. “That I’m, at least, as stubborn as you.”

“Most people don’t get the chance to be around me this much.”

“Well, I’m Tony Stark. And Iron Man. And I do what I want. Pretty much.”

“Shut up,” Bruce told him, smiling.

Tony smiled back. “Even Jarvis was worried and he’s only programmed to worry about me.”

“I suppose someone has to.”

 

 

 

Outside Bruce’s room in the medic bay, Natasha stood guard. Clint slid into view on the opposite wall. “Hey.”

Natasha’s eyes were hooded and bored-looking. “Hey.”

“Tony in there?”

“Of course,” Natasha said, with a snort of laughter. 

“You gonna get a turn tonight?”

“It’s for the best if he stays as long as he needs to. When I went with him to blow the generator, he would _not_ shut up. You know how manic Tony gets.”

Clint nodded, arms crossed as he leaned back on the wall. He peered at her.

“Yes?” Natasha asked him slowly, raising her eyebrows.

Clint seemed to think for a moment and then looked back at her. “Natasha, you’re my friend. So when I say this, I want you to know that I want what’s best for you—“

“Oh my God, what are you doing?” Natasha started to laugh.

“—so maybe you should hold back a little.”

Natasha looked away, sighing.

“I know. I know—but Nat, he’s not like us, like you. If you actually like the guy, you’ll have to respect him. He’s technically old enough to be your teenaged father.”

“It’s not that I don’t _respect_ him—“

Clint raised his eyebrows.

“There was a lot going on and…usually I do really well with change but…something was…” Natasha looked away, scowling. “Different.”

“Was it seeing the kids?”

“After all the death, maybe. Suddenly it hit me. I’m not sure why.”

“Maybe it was Pietro and Wanda? They remind you of anyone.” He gestured back and forth between them.

“Maybe,” Natasha said quietly. She looked around and then sauntered over to Clint. She leaned against the wall next to him. “I never asked you what…Loki made you see. What he did to you. Sometimes you get this look on your face like James does. I didn’t even realize it until we saw Barnes. That wide, haunted, shattered expression. It’s….terrible. And then I realized…I’d seen it in you but I never asked you about what Loki did to you.”

Clint glanced away. “I guess it’s….hard to explain.” He swallowed hard. “Sounds a lot like what happened in that laboratory.”

“But Loki had you for weeks…”

“Weeks, months, days?” Clint shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know how long I was there, with him. I lost all sense of time and place. I just killed people on command.” 

“Clint—“

“It can’t be changed now,” Clint said gruffly. “But…I’m not a superhero. I’m not a super soldier or an alien god-prince or anything. I just really like archery.” He snorted to himself.

Natasha blinked, looking up from the tile. “Clint….why wouldn’t Hydra have just taken one of their own to become their special agents, like the Winter Soldier. Why did they purposely choose someone who had to be constantly wiped, constantly controlled? Why not someone like Rumlow? Why not me? I never questioned the Red Room. It was all I knew. Rumlow _wanted_ to do Hydra’s grease work.”

“Rumlow just likes killing,” Clint answered, scowling. “He likes power. If they made him the Winter Soldier and Hydra gave him an order that he disagreed with—because he understood the consequences and scope of what the order would accomplish—then I guess Hydra is stuck with a trump card it can’t control.”

“So they take someone who _wants_ to fight in order to protect. Who doesn’t _like_ to kill but can.” Pietro sauntered up to them, nodding to them both. “Because the desire to protect someone else is either in you or it isn’t. That can’t be erased. But _who_ they will to protect: _that_ can be changed.”

“I suppose our memories are like pages in a book,” Natasha mused, leaning against the wall. “If you open a memory and write in some notes or erase a word here and there—your perspective changes.”

“Yeah,” Clint said softly. “You know that cold, tense feeling inside of you right now, Nat?”

She looked sidelong at him.

“That’s what it felt like when he was in my head. I felt helpless.” He stood up straight. “Good luck if you wait around to talk to Bruce. Pietro, it’s good to see you awake. Look forward to you coming on our next mission. You healthy enough for a drink?”

“I’ll join you when I’ve spoken to my sister,” Pietro said and watched Clint walk away before looking at Natasha. He switched to Russian. “You met Dr Sebasilla?”

“Unfortunately.”

“I’ve met her. Not sorry to hear she’s dead. Let’s hope she stays that way.” He hesitated a moment and then said, “You saw things?”

“Yes. All of us did. Is that what she did when she met you and Wanda?”

Something in Pietro’s eyes cracked and he looked away. “She made Wanda do it to me.”

Natasha tensed, jaw locking, silent as she watched him walk away.

 

 

 

Pietro entered the exam room. Wanda was standing by the bed, fingers curled into her sleeves, chewing her lip as she watched the doctor examine Bucky. The Winter Soldier was shirtless. His shoulder was red and inflamed around the metal of his arm. Three bullet holes decorated his back and shoulder. He was totally silent as the doctor examined each one and put dressings on them. 

“We should really have Mister Stark examine the arm, Mister Barnes,” said the doctor. “It’s infected. It needs to be cleaned out.” 

Bucky looked at the man from under his hair, smoke-blue eye narrowing at him.

“I will speak to Mister Stark,” Wanda said. “It’s likely for the best that we handle that.”

“I agree,” the doctor said, carefully showing Bucky his hands as he stepped back. “Be careful of the bullet wounds, Sergeant Barnes.” He glanced up when Pietro entered and nodded to him before gathering his file to leave.

Wanda went forward with a clean t-shirt. “Brother,” she greeted.

Pietro watched her go to Bucky, watched the man look at her uncertainly. She smiled gently, disarming and picked up his metal hand. “Let me help you,” she said.

Bucky glanced down and then lifted his arms, threading them through the shirt and pulling it over his head. 

Pietro watched the care that Wanda took in pulling the shirt down the Winter Soldier’s battered torso. “You have surprisingly few scars,” Pietro said, leaning back against the wall.

Barnes looked at him, then back at his knees. “I heal fast.”

“Do you remember where you room is?” Wanda asked him, pointedly ignoring Pietro.

Bucky glanced at her and looked down again. “Basement level two. It’s….on the same floor as Steve.”

“May I walk with you? I imagine Captain Rogers will want to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine,” Bucky said softly.

Wanda touched his shoulder. “I know. But you protected me. And you were shot because of it.”

“He _protected_ you?” Pietro said, still leaning against the wall.

Wanda glanced at him, frowning. Bucky looked at him too, meeting his gaze before he stood up from the bed. He said nothing as he headed out the door. Wanda followed him.

Pietro followed her, watching her walk beside the Winter Soldier. She looked small next to him. Hell, he looked small without all the gear on. He followed from a distance until Wanda and Bucky got into the elevator to go down. Pietro took the stairs, blurring like greased lightning to the basement level. 

Steve was already there, waiting. He nodded to Pietro. “Bucky with Wanda?”

Pietro nodded. “Seems he protected her and so now she wants to protect him.”

“Don’t approve?” Steve asked him, smiling a little. 

“To be completely honest, Captain Rogers, I would likely not approve of anyone.”

Steve chuckled. “I can understand that.”

“Do you think he is even capable of feeling something towards her?”

“I don’t know,” Steve admitted. He sighed. “I hope so. It would be nice for both of them.”

“What about you? He’s your best friend. You’re not afraid of losing him?”

Steve looked sidelong at the young man and then back at the elevator doors. “No. Not to her.”

“To Hydra, then?”

“Aren’t you afraid of the same thing?” 

“Fair enough. I suppose better him than Stark.”

Steve burst out laughing.

The elevator doors opened. Bucky jerked a little, standing next to Wanda but not looking at her. She gently touched his shirt. “Steve,” she greeted and smiled. “Bucky’s wounds are mostly already healed. The doctor says we should talk to Stark about his arm.”

Steve touched Bucky’s shoulder as his friend stepped out of the elevator. “What’s wrong with the arm, pal?”

“Major had someone clean it when I was with them. It’s just infected again. I’ll clean it out,” Bucky said gruffly, shoulders tensing up.

Steve shook his head. “We should get it replaced.”

“I…don’t want another operation.”

“Bucky—we can fix it. But we only can if you let us.”

Wanda watched their eyes meet, the two super soldiers were able to communicate whole volumes with just a glance. They knew each other so well—like brothers. And now, well…Barnes and Carter were the only two left alive who had seen Captain Rogers when he was just Steve from Brooklyn. And Bucky was the only one who’d really _known_ him. That was….sad, really. Though she supposed that it was like her and Pietro. Everyone they’d known was dead. They were all the other had. 

Bucky nodded silently. 

“We’ll talk to Tony about it later,” Steve said, gently putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder to guide his friend to his room. 

Pietro waited until they were gone before turning to Wanda. “Want to have a drink with Barton?”

She nodded and sighed.

When they arrived, they found Natasha already there.

“Black Widow,” Pietro said, smirking at her.

“Pietro,” Natasha replied, imitating a sultry eyelash bat. “I know no one wants to talk about work but that’s pretty much all we talk about.”

Pietro looked at Wanda as they sat down. “Do you need something?”

“Wanda,” Natasha said, shifting her gaze to her. “You looked in our heads. What did you see from the others?”

Wanda blinked and then hesitated. “I….I can see into others, Natalia but…I don’t tell what I see there. It’s….”

“It’s super-rude to be able to read people’s minds and then tell about it,” Clint said, raising his glass at Natasha. 

“It is!” Wanda insisted.

“Wanda—I can already guess what Steve and Bucky saw. I want to know about the other two. The brother and sister—what did _they_ see.”

“Oh,” Wanda said and shrugged. “Victor is…insecure. He has many regrets, as all mortals do. He seemed ashamed of Olivia, or at least, angry with her. But she is likely already aware of it and they’ve made their peace to just sort of tolerate each other.”

“And Olivia?”

Wanda frowned at the drink Clint passed her. “She…did not see anything.”

Natasha peered at her hard. “What do you mean, nothing? That woman made her see…nothing? Just, nothing at all.”

“I thought it was strange but it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. You can trap someone in their own mind very easily if they’re afraid of something enough. From what Steve said, Olivia came into the room last—it seemed reasonable that the doctor simply wanted her still and silent while she dealt with Mister Barnes and Captain Rogers.”

“No suggestions were placed?” Natasha asked.

“None that I felt—nothing like Bu—Mister Barnes. Sebasilla intended for Bucky to kill the four of you. She truly thought he would do it. So she did enough to keep you all paralyzed and she focused on him.”

“Steve broke through it though.”

“Captain America has many talents.” Wanda shrugged.

Natasha’s gaze was hard, sharp as a tack. 

Clint looked up from the counter. “You think, what—Sebasilla did it on purpose instead of just for convenience?”

“I….I don’t know. Something just doesn’t feel right.”

Beside Wanda, Pietro frowned a little. “Sebasilla enjoyed her little game. They all did.”

“Well—I mean—in one of his memories, Victor said she wasn’t his real sister. Maybe she was adopted and just doesn’t have a lot of memories. The mind is never still and interpreting someone’s thoughts is very…uncertain, if you don’t know them well-enough. Everything represents something different to someone else. In the west, red is blood, a warning, violence—in Russia, its beauty. People don’t think the same way. Minds are very…chaotic places.”

“You helped James,” Natasha said.

“That was different.”

“How?”

“Mister Barnes has seen pain, misery and horror. That transcends all linguistic and cultural boundaries. We can all understand—or be made to understand—pain and helplessness.”

Clint looked down at the counter-top. 

“Did you ask her what she saw?” Wanda asked, peering back at Natasha carefully. 

“No.”

“Then how did you find out?”

“That woman you met at the compound—Harkness. She said it. She also told me what _I’d_ seen. I don’t know who this woman is, but we need to find out. She’s dangerous.”

Clint looked up. “Jarvis, where is Agatha Harkness?”

“Ms Harkness is eating supper with Mister Roderick Pines in the observation deck, floor twenty-seven. Mister Stark gave the order not to allow them to leave the floor until we could confirm their stories.”

“We should go have a chat with her in the morning,” Natasha said, raising her eyebrows.

“Shall I send out a schedule invitation?”

Clint and Pietro both chuckled. 

“Make it for eleven,” Natasha agreed. 

“You know, that’s the nice thing about this place. We can schedule our interrogations so much easier now that we can just send group invites,” Clint said. 

Natasha flicked him in the ear and got up. “See you in the morning.”  
-  
-  
-  
-


	16. Rusted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No. I was born here, in the United States. A long time ago. I assume you’ve all heard of the Salem Witches?”
> 
> “Oh my god, what.” Tony put his head in his hand. “I’m starting to think that guy on Ancient Aliens might be on to something.”
> 
> Clint, Sam and Darcy snorted into their coffee cups.
> 
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> Also, bringing in some stuff from Doctor Strange
> 
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I knew you were going to ask this eventually,” Tony said, getting up from his workshop’s desk chair and spinning it around idly. 

“And?” Steve asked, voice neutral.

“You know this guy killed my parents, right?”

“He’s like Bruce, Tony. You know that.”

Tony sighed softly. “Yeah, I do. His Hulk is Barnes’ Hydra, right?” He glanced behind Steve.

About ten feet away, Bucky was standing in silence. He looked down. Wanda scowled at Tony from her seat beside Bucky. 

“Well, at least he doesn’t deny it,” Tony shifted awkwardly. “Look, I know I pretty much hate your perfect guts because my _dad_ loved you so much. And since I spent my whole life blaming _you_ for that, it’s a perfect twist of irony that now he’s dead and you’re here. So I guess I gotta blame him again or more or whatever. The point is, I didn’t like my dad much. But I liked my mom. I just need to hear it from him.”

“Tony—,” Steve started.

“I just need to know for sure,” Tony said, raising his eyebrows. “And who better to ask than the Winter Soldier himself?”

Bucky shifted and straightened up. “Then ask,” he said, tersely. “Ask me if I killed my friend and his wife that I never got to meet.”

Steve took a deep breath, looking at the floor.

Tony looked at him under the fringe of his hair, bristling a little. “Did you?”

“Yes,” Bucky said and now he didn’t look away. He stared at Tony, catching his gaze and holding it. “I did it. I killed them. It was me. He even said my name. He recognized me.” Something in Bucky’s eyes widened and he swallowed hard. “And then I gutted him,” he said faintly.

Tony twitched and looked down, putting his hands on the countertop of his work table. “And my mom?”

“I put her in the car with….Howard. She drove away. Then I detonated a bomb. She was killed instantly.”

Tony’s shoulders stiffened and his knuckles turned white. For a moment, Steve thought he’d have to step in and steady the inventor but Tony shook himself. He took a deep breath, clearly rattled. It took him a long moment until he looked at Steve. “That’s…what I wanted to know,” he said slowly. 

“Tony…”

“Don’t,” Tony said, eyes a little too wide, taking a deep breath. “It’s okay. I get it. He was your friend,” Tony said, looking beyond Steve again.

Bucky nodded. “He was.” His expression glazed over. 

“Like what Loki did the Clint, like what the Hulk does to Bruce…” Tony turned away and brought one of his screens down. “I started this when Cap left to look for you, Winter. Figured if you made your way back to us, it probably wouldn’t be to quietly retire.”

A set of blueprints outlined themselves on the screen. Tony grabbed it and pulled it down to a three-dimensional hologram. The left arm shifted as Tony moved it up for Steve and Bucky to examine. “I just need your measurement and I’ll set Jarvis to building it.”

Bucky looked at Steve. He nodded.

Bucky let Tony measure him. The inventor did not touch him—he had his computer measure him with lasers. He didn’t quite meet Bucky’s eyes when he said, “It’ll be done in about six hours. Paint job takes some extra time.” He attempted a smirk that fell a bit flat. “So by the time we get done with Harkness this afternoon—we can get you prepped.”

 

 

 

“Are you asking why I chose to be ugly, Mister Stark?”

“Well, you’re not…ugly, exactly. You’re just…ordinary. And if you supposedly have the power to change how you look—why _wouldn’t_ you be beautiful?”

Agatha smiled. “Clever Mister Stark. Tell me. That young lady who has worked down in the hangar bay for almost a month now. What is her name?”

Tony wrinkled his nose. “There are a _lot_ of people that work here. I can’t know _everyone_.”

“This one has been taking care of gear when you all come back from a mission. It was supposed to just be Sam Wilson—but now it seems to include the others as well. It’s not bad—she enjoys the work. She likes learning.”

“Oh!” Tony pointed. “The chick at the gear-drop station—no, I don’t know her name. I just pay her or something.”

“Why don’t you know her name?”

“Why do I need to? She’s that kid from Indiana, right? Her and her brother—he’s in the labs now. Someone introduced me to him.”

“He has potential?”

“He seems bright.”

“So she’s just…ordinary?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Is this an ‘everyone is special’ speech?”

“No, thank goodness. But you don’t remember her because she’s ordinary to you. That’s why I look the way I do—draws less attention.”

“Clearly not enough to avoid Rumlow,” Steve said, looking at the woman from across the long table. The others were all gathered there as well, sitting in a large circle. “Why were you in that base?”

“I read the signs,” Harkness said, studying Steve. “I was looking for someone. I didn’t know I was already on Hydra’s list—but it did make it faster when they found me. I thought I was looking for someone in their ranks—turns out I only had to wait and she came to me.” She nodded at Wanda.

“Why were you looking for me?” Wanda asked. Beside her, Bucky’s eyes darkened, bristling.

“You’re a witch.”

“A witch.” Wanda’s eyebrows lifted.

“Or mage—some prefer mage,” Agatha went on. “Because there’s no implied gender. _Witch_ is such a loaded word in English. It’s pregnant with symbolism and implied meanings from what society hates about independent women. Mage _is_ less biting. You don’t really use it as an insult, unless you lived in a universe where magic is perverse. I suppose it’s good that not many of those universes exist.”

“Hydra used their Mind Scepter on my brother and I—that gave us our abilities.”

“It _unlocked_ your abilities. It didn’t _create_ them. The universe is a very large place—magic isn’t so uncommon in the rest of it.”

“So are you, like….from Asgard or something?” Clint asked.

“No. I was born here, in the United States. A long time ago. I assume you’ve all heard of the Salem Witches?”

“Oh my god, what.” Tony put his head in his hand. “I’m starting to think that guy on Ancient Aliens might be on to something.”

Clint, Sam and Darcy snorted into their coffee cups.

“You were there?” Steve asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes, I was. Is that so hard to believe, Captain Steve Rogers—born in 1918 to Sarah and Joseph Rogers. Still alive and in your prime.”

“If Thor ends up being alien-Jesus, I’m out,” Darcy said. Jane elbowed her in the ribs.

"At least he'd finally look like what all the white people have been painting him like forever," Sam said.

Darcy choked and high-fived Sam, laughing.

"Goddammit, you guys," Clint said, trying not to smile.

“So you found Wanda. Now what?” Steve crossed his arms, studying her.

Agatha looked at Wanda. “You need training. You need a teacher.”

“Why would we need you?” Tony asked. “We could just ask Thor.”

“I respect you, Mister Stark. However, like any mortal who is blessed with talent, wealth and self-regard, they become dangerous when given access to tools they do not understand. Thor is an excellent fighter, from what I’ve heard, but he was no wizard. Loki, however, was very adept with magic—but somehow I doubt you’d want him here.”

“You’re not taking her away,” Pietro said, hackles rising.

“I’m certain she could stop a lot of people from taking her anywhere she didn’t want to go—but,” and here she stopped to looked at Wanda, “there _are_ things you need to be aware of. Do you know about the Sorcerer Supreme?”

“No,” Wanda said, looking around at the others.

“Most don’t—she’s well-known but only in certain circles. I think it would be a good idea for you to meet her.”

“Why?” Natasha asked.

“Because you’re powerful,” Agatha said, still looking at Wanda. “What you’ve discovered on your own—what Hydra uncovered—that’s the tip of the iceberg. You’re capable of incredible power—but with that, comes many eyes. I can help you learn to control your power and when the time is right, I believe I can arrange for you to meet the Sorcerer Supreme.”

“Uh, who are they? Some part of Shield?” Bruce asked, still looking tired but curious.

“No—like Asgard, it has always been around—they protect the earth from magical problems. They’ve done a very good job in the last few thousand years but…” Agatha looked at the table and then back at Wanda, “…things are in motion that can’t be stopped. As I told you at the base, powers gather. You already know about some of it,” Agatha said, looking up at Steve. “The Tesseract, the Scepter, the Aether.” She glanced down the table at Jane Foster, who tensed and looked down at her notebook. “There are things in the universe that cannot be ignored for much longer.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Wanda said, fingers curling up into her sleeves under the table. She felt Bucky’s focus turn towards her.

“I’m not going to ask you to leave. That’s why I’m here. I thought I was waiting to meet him or her when Rumlow took me to that base. I was sure I was looking for someone in Hydra. And I guess I was—but not who I thought. When Banner was brought in—that was my chance.” She glanced at Bruce. “Sorry—it was bad for you but it was lucky for me. I thought I’d have to just destroy the whole place--I was afraid the doctor that Rumlow spoke about--Doctor Bontrager--would arrive before I found her.”

“If you’re so powerful, why aren’t _you_ with this Sorcerer and the Supremes?” Tony asked, crossing his arms.

“They tend not to get involved on the ground level. Where it matters. Yes, protecting Earth from all manner of strange visitors and magic is important. But they’re secretive and they refuse to act. Some nonsense about the natural order or something.” Agatha waved a hand flippantly. “Obviously someone proactive is not someone they want around. Asgard isn’t even aware of the Sorcerer’s existence. They closed ranks a long time ago, refusing aid from the other worlds. From other magic. They were afraid of war. I can’t blame them, really. Magic and war go together in a horrible way—but if we do not act—there’s a chance that Thanos will get the Stones and we will _all_ die. It’s pulling on every strand in the universe. It’s not a coincidence that people like Wanda have begun to show their potential. And not all of them are being triggered by Hydra.”

“Doctor Faustus,” Bucky said softly.

Agatha nodded. “And others like him. He was capable of terrible things before Hydra found him. He committed many horrors in their service. As you, Winter Soldier, are so unfortunately aware. You and the others.”

“Others?” Bucky asked, narrowing his eyes.

Agatha studied Bucky, peering into him. “There were others besides you, Sergeant Barnes. Tell me the trigger words that Rumlow threw at you.”

Bucky tensed.

“Is that really necessary?” Wanda asked. “It’s—“

“Barnes, what are the words they used to control you.”

Bucky looked down. He took a deep breath and recited: “Longing, Rusted, Seventeen, Daybreak, Furnace,” he swallowed hard, “Nine, Benign, One, Freight car.”

“It seems random—but it’s not.”

“Seventeen was the number on his file,” Natasha said, looking sidelong at Steve.

Bucky rubbed his forehead. The pain was far less than it used to be but it was still hard to focus. His eyes kept blurring. He shook himself and then felt a touch on his right arm from Wanda, sitting next to him. She touched his sleeve lightly, carefully, under the table. It was just a small thing, a tiny offer of comfort. But…somehow it helped calm him. 

“So you’re saying there are, at least, _sixteen_ others,” Steve said, eyes going wide. 

“And those who came after him.”

“What’s the pattern?” Sam asked.

“I imagine it’s different for each one of them but there must be some structure to it. Freight car seems interesting when you know who Bucky Barnes _was_.” Agatha looked at Steve.

Clint looked down the table. “Wanda—do you know about things like this? Did they teach you?”

“Yes, they did,” Wanda said softly, glancing away from the rest of them. “But they never gave me the reasons. Just the words.”

“You’ve actually put them on someone?” Maria asked, sitting back in her chair curiously.

“Yes, I did,” she said, voice getting a little faint.

“They made her do it to me,” Pietro grumbled. “But there weren’t so many words. Just….three. Trapped, Fracture, Service.”

“Only three?” Agatha asked softly. “Are you sure?”

Pietro glared at her and looked sidelong at Wanda. He straightened when she glanced away. “Wanda?”

“There were actually five words…but you weren’t supposed to remember them. Trapped, Fracture, Service, Twenty-seven, Stark. They made me try a lot of different things on people.”

Pietro stiffened.

“I removed it as soon as we were free,” Wanda said to the table top. “I was afraid to tell you. They were always looking in my head. Changing things.” She covered her eyes with her palm. “I was never….certain that what I remembered was what actually occurred. I-I just—“

“That’s enough,” Steve said gently. “That’s enough for one day.” He stood up. “Harkness, we’re taking a risk, trusting you. If only because now, it would be too dangerous to let you walk away. You can teach Wanda, _if_ she wants you to. Otherwise, you’ll stay here.”

“Of course, I won’t be any trouble, Captain Rogers.”

Steve eyed her before looking to Tony. “Still up for that arm?”

The inventor got up. “Foster, you wanna come help me put a new arm on Barnes?”

“Of course,” Jane said and got up. Bruce made to follow.

Wanda felt Bucky shift, silently turning to her, examining her. He got up from his chair but didn’t walk away. She glanced up into his face, seeing the question there and got up. Bucky almost reached out to her—and then didn’t, letting his flesh hand fall. Pietro got up, putting a hand on Wanda’s back and walking towards the exit with Bruce and Jane. Bucky followed behind them with Steve. 

 

 

 

It took an hour to ready one of the operating rooms for Tony, Jane and Bruce. Steve, Bucky, Pietro and Wanda sat in the observation room, watching. Bucky was trying to curb his unease but there was a slight tremor in his gaze. 

Wanda sat next to him, looking drawn and pale as she lightly touched his arm. “Are you all right?” She murmured.

“Don’t like operations,” Bucky said softly. “I remember…some of them,” he said and looked down. His metal fist twitched and tightened. 

“Aren’t we all a good class of science experiments,” Pietro drawled, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head. 

Bucky half-smiled. “A regular A-plus crew of freaks, aren’t we?”

That seemed to help him settle a little, looking through the glass as Bruce finally looked up and gestured to him. He took a deep breath and stood.

“Bucky?” Steve said, standing as well and meeting his eyes.

“I got it,” Bucky answered and went out the door. 

Bruce met him there, leading him into the clean room to change his clothes. He did not try to touch Bucky—knowing the man’s reputation and the general unease he likely felt. Bruce didn’t much like operations either.

When he was clean and changed, Bruce led him back into the operating room. He kept a careful few feet between them as Bucky hesitated in front of the table. His eyes were getting that hollow look to them that so many of them shared. 

And then Barnes took a deep breath, glancing at the window. Steve nodded to him. Wanda was standing at the glass with the captain, she touched it.

Bruce saw something in Bucky’s expression ease. He swallowed hard and then sat down on the operating table. Tony and Jane entered in sterile scrubs like Bruce. Tony was wheeling in a large cold case that likely contained the arm. Jane had a tray of tools and three syringes. 

“You okay, big guy?” Tony asked, glancing down at Bucky and smiling at him.

Bucky looked at him. There was uncertainty in his face, as he was on his back and about to let the man whose parents he’d killed operate on him.

“Don’t worry, no hard feelings. Besides, if I did anything to you—do you think I’d make it three feet before Cap came through that glass? Not to mention if Wanda decided to come in after him.”

Beside Steve, Wanda narrowed her eyes and nodded. Steve half-grinned at her. He put up his hand and the witch shyly high-fived him.

“He assumes I wouldn’t help?” Pietro said.

“Would you?” Steve asked.

“Eh, maybe,” Pietro snickered, shrugging one shoulder.

“We’re gonna get you an IV, okay?” Bruce said, showing the sharp to Bucky. “Little prick,” he said and slid the needle in.

“Likely not that little,” Tony laughed.

“Did he just make a joke about the Winter Soldier’s dick?” Pietro asked, smirking.

Steve started in his chair.

“Shut _up_ ,” Wanda snapped.

Tony burst out laughing.

 

 

Over the next four hours, Steve and Wanda and Pietro watched the doctors carefully remove the arm unit after they put Bucky out. It was difficult to watch. Steve had to look down when Bruce had to get a small bone saw to cut out some of the ravaged bone and tissue. Wanda watched anxiously, standing again with her hands pressed to the glass.

“You look like you all need a drink,” said Darcy as she entered the observation room. “Hey, Jarve—can we drink in here?”

“What shall I have sent up for you, Miss Darcy?”

“Bloody Mary for me.” She pointed to the twins.

Pietro shrugged. “Surprise me.”

Wanda didn’t even seem to hear Darcy or Jarvis.

“Long Island for frosty tips and…uh, vodka and cranberry juice for—it’s Wanda, right?”

Pietro nodded when Wanda did not answer.

“Steve?”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Unless he can get something from Thor—it’s probably not gonna do me much good.”

“Oh yeah—shit, sorry. Damn, that sucks. And a bottle of water for Cap.”

“Who are you?” Pietro asked, studying her as she sat on his other side. 

“Darcy Lewis—I’m her assistant,” she said, pointing to Jane.

“You are…one who does the hacking sometimes, yes?”

“Yeah!” Darcy said, looking pleased that he knew that.

Bucky’s heartrate suddenly jumped, making the three doctors pause. Steve got up from his seat again but Wanda leaned forward. The fringe of her hair touched the glass as she closed her eyes and reached out.

She touched Bucky’s mind—in the throes of a nightmare. It was a flicker of her will to stop it. To make all the images and sounds quiet. Taking everything away until Bucky stood alone in the Winter Soldier’s gear. He was covered in blood and everything smelled like smoke. 

Wanda touched his mind again, changed the gear to regular clothes—jeans and a green t-shirt. His hair became clean and combed, the blood disappeared. The white slate of dreamspace became a grassy hill. It overlooked a bay and port, where little tugboats bobbed on their lines and horns sounded for delivery ships and fishing vessels. 

He seemed surprised at the change but also relieved, looking out over the calm water with something like _longing_. She watched him interact with his new dream. He sat on the hill and just looked at the water. He looked at his mismatched hands and rubbed his scruffed face. The sun was shining behind him as it set. 

He smiled a little.

Wanda felt something in her chest catch—seeing the shadow of who Bucky Barnes must have been. 

“Is this lucid dreaming?” Bucky asked. 

Wanda hesitated and then answered, “Yes.”

He turned around on the grass and an image of herself appeared. “When the nightmares come—maybe you can come here?”

Bucky watched her approach and sit down next to him. “Are you doing this?”

“Yes, I am. I’m sorry to…pry without permission. But you were having a nightmare.”

“It’s all right,” Bucky said quietly, shifting, looking down and then meeting her gaze again. “I…if it’s you, um. It seems like you…are….” He waved his hand, trying to express what he meant. “You’re okay.”

Wanda chuckled. “Thank you, Bucky.”

“Am I still on the table?”

“Yes, you are.”

Bucky hesitated before he said, “Are you…are you going to stay until it’s over?”

“I can, if you would like me to.”

Bucky nodded, looking back to the bay. “Do you know this place?”

“I would tell you how it was a peaceful port near where I grew up—but the truth is that I once saw it in a calendar.”

Bucky laughed.

Wanda smiled. She’d never heard Bucky laugh before. It was a warm sound. His eyes twinkled at her and she leaned on his metal arm a little. She felt him slide it around her shoulders and the stubble on his face brushed her temple. 

“Thank you,” he said, voice soft and rumbling against her ear.

 

 

Beside Wanda, Darcy said, “Hey! Are you asleep, or what?”

“She’s ignoring us,” Pietro told her.

“What?” Darcy asked, holding the tumbler of juice and vodka.

“She’s in his head—to keep him calm.” Pietro huffed a little. “She can hear you—she’s just ignoring you.”

Steve glanced at Wanda, her eyes still gently closed, hair brushing the glass and then back at Bucky. His heartrate had fallen back to normal and his expression had eased. Steve glanced over at Pietro and found the man watching his sister with some mixture of uncertainty and curiosity. 

She stayed standing like that for another hour. She never moved, not an inch. Not until the new arm was attached, they dosed Bucky up with pain medication and then withdrew the IV. The anesthesia would start to wear off now, quickly with Bucky’s enhanced metabolism. He was already healing, growing to the new arm. It was solid titanium with rivets of hard diamond and ceramic. It was much lighter than the old arm. 

But when Bucky’s eyes fluttered open, he didn’t look at it. He turned his head, looking right at the glass, where Wanda’s eyes had finally opened. She smiled gently at him. 

Bucky half-smiled back and then took a breath, looking at his new arm. 

“Like it?” Tony asked. “Pretty slick, huh?”

Bucky tested his fingers. “It’s lighter, more responsive.”

“It can sense heat, cold and pressure too,” Tony told him. “And it comes with Jarvis! He’ll take automatic logs whenever you fight—that way if the arm is damaged, we’ll know right away.”

“Oh. Wow,” said Bucky—as he didn’t seem to know how else to respond.

“Can we come in?” Steve asked the intercom.

“Yeah, might as well break the seal on the room. He’s already healing up.” Tony waved to Jane, who pressed a button by the door. The operating room breathed and the observation room unlocked. 

Steve blinked. “You locked us in here?”

“Duh,” Tony said, lifting his eyebrows. “Are you serious?”

“All right, that’s fair,” Steve opened the door and came in. Wanda followed.

Bucky sat up, shifting his shoulder.

“How does it feel?”

His friend nodded a little. “Better, lighter, faster.”

“Stronger too,” Bruce added.

“If you ever wanna land that concert pianist gig, had to get you something better than that Soviet Hydra piece of junk,” Tony scoffed. 

“Suppose I better test it then,” Bucky said softly. His gaze flickered over to Wanda, following her with his eyes as she approached and then he looked back to Steve. 

The guy _smirked_ at him.

Bucky looked down, feeling oddly embarrassed. “This whole role-reversal thing is killing me, Steve.”

Steve grinned at him. “It’s all right. Good for you to get a taste of your own medicine.”

Bucky smiled and then looked at Tony. “I…thank you.”

Tony nodded a little, shrugging one shoulder. “Yeah, well. After you test it, we should talk. My old man’s stories about you were pretty good.”

Bucky did a slight double-take. “He told you stories about _me_?”

“Oh yeah—unlike the perfect Captain America, his best friend Barnes was apparently a lot more fun.”

“Well, tell me before you tell Steve,” Bucky replied. "There might be some stuff he doesn't know about if it was me and Howard."

Tony smiled a little.

"Wait, what."

-  
-  
-  
-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ancient Aliens guy whose explanation for everything is aliens: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fUHk9FLZMf4
> 
>  


	17. Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little Bucky/Wanda  
> \----------------------------------------------------------
> 
>  
> 
> "...That name. Bucky. That was what changed everything. They didn’t even realize it was there. It was basically—a trigger word. You know about the trigger words, right?”
> 
> They nodded.
> 
> “Well, they needed _ten_ words to control the Winter Soldier. But only _one_ to wake up Bucky Barnes.”  
>  \-----------------------------------------------------------------

Stark came hurrying into the hangar bay. “Hey, you—uh, Major—need your help, c’mon.”

Olivia jumped up and hurried forward to catch up to Mister Stark. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh yeah, just need your help moving the cars.”

“The cars?”

“Yeah, you know. Cars. Beep-beep. Vroom-vroom.”

“Well, I know that, I…” and Olivia huffed quietly and sighed. 

Stark wasn’t listening anymore as he jogged into an elevator, waving her forward to hurry. He hit a button, holding his finger on it. He fidgeted a lot, she noticed. Bucky could sit still for hours if he had to. Stark moved like he heard music. She wondered, idly, what kind of music he might hear in his head. He was never still so it must have a quick pace or cadence. He twitched his fingers, shifted his toes, always turning his head and looking around, straightening his jacket and checking his watch. 

She hummed a little, turning her ears to his movements, focusing on them. Established a rhythm in little flares of color—bohemian, maybe Victorian—and with a harpsichord and gypsy violin. There would be dramatic rises and falls, every bar a flourish so he could present whatever it was he was doing ( _college grants, eco-technology, scorched corpses_ ) and then the short and choppy crescendo as he explained it ( _you’re the future, like Christmas but more me, I saw the light on the other side of the tunnel and everything was cold and dark and alone_ ) and he wooed them in his swagger, his singsong warmth ( _Let’s create a world where Avengers aren’t needed, I surpassed my father, Please help me_ ). It shifted the pitch of the hum to something lower, darker, it—

“….shift?”

Olivia jerked a little and looked up at Stark’s face. “Huh?” She asked, blankly.

He huffed impatiently as the doors opened and rolled his eyes. “Can you drive stick shift?”

“Oh—I—yes. Sorry. I was—sorry.” 

Stark waved her forward and tossed her a few sets of keys. The garage held eight vehicles comfortably. Four of them were Avengers’ vehicles—big black SUVs with bulletproof windows and titanium plating. The other four were clearly Stark’s own vehicles from the way he suddenly went for the keys to the sports cars. “Good parking here,” he said, smirking a little.

Together, they moved the vehicles outside and Stark had an odd machine brought up into the vacated space. There was a massive metal plate that could sink a ways—almost like a scale but placed vertically. Then he shooed his techs away back to their laboratories. “Hey, Major—bring me a stool?”

Olivia went into the garage’s gear-check station and brought one out. He took it and waved his hand a little at her but otherwise said nothing. He went to the boxes of equipment and started to construct something. 

Well, he wasn’t telling her to leave and she was curious now. She stood a respectful distance away, just observing him as he built the supports and connected it to a few power supplies. He draped some kind of fabric or mat over the metal plate. So it hung in the air like a dark ghost. Out of a black bag, Stark pulled out one of his Iron Man gauntlets. 

He lifted his hand and let it slither over his fist. “Do you know what this is?” He said, not looking at her.

“No,” she said quietly.

“It measures the force that an object has when it hits the wall. Or a fist. Calculates it on a scale.” He displayed his fist and then slammed it into the black mat with a heavy _whooomp_. “We’re gonna take some measurements today. Me and the Terminator.”

He must have seen her expression flicker because he chuckled. “Well, that’s what he was. It’s not a lie. I mean—has he even _seen_ that movie?”

“I hope not.”

He did a slight double-take at her and then chuckled. “Yeah, not a good training video. Not sure I wanna watch that—that part where he cracks out his own eye.”

Olivia looked at the floor. She had pins and needles on the tips of her fingers and drug them through her hair. 

“Sorry—forgot you haven’t been here very long.” He paused and then looked at her again. “How long did Barnes stay with you and your brother?”

“Almost two weeks—from when I found him to when…we all left.”

“Can’t imagine he was a talkative guest.”

“No.” Olivia smiled a little. “The first five or six days he hardly spoke at all. We had to leave him notes stapled to plastic bags because his door was always locked and the security bar was always pulled. He never left. We brought him food and he apologized for getting _blood_ on the towels.” She laughed a little. “It seems…weird, now.”

“Ah, I suppose it’s a bit different now. You got used to him lurking around and now he’s off doing whatever he does when he's not punching apart sandbags and your brother is in the laboratories now. And then there’s you. You talk to my robots.”

She glanced aside, a little embarrassed that he’d somehow found out about it.

“I like the names. You can keep them. You talk to them like I talk to Jarvis, so I don’t mind.” He got to working again after that and didn’t say much more. It felt like a dismissal so she eventually retreated back up to the hangar bay.

On her worktable, she found a flashdrive with some paper wrapped around it. She glanced at Cassandra. The robot just twisted one of her claws. Olivia took the rubber band off and uncurled the paper.

_Thought you might like this._

The writing was carefully clear, like someone who was used to writing in a scribble. There was no name signed. Olivia looked around the empty hangar bay and then picked up the flashdrive, plugging it into one of the Stark computers. 

A folder opened up, labeled “Number Thirty-five”. It had some music files in it. She brightened, opening them all up in a playlist to listen. 

She started taking apart Natasha’s thermal knife while the music played. It was…sort of…haunting. The tracks didn’t have names and it was no musician that she recognized. She thought of Tony’s rhythm in the elevator. It was interesting music that flexed and changed when it hit the fourth track. There was even a picture with it, a beautiful shot of an aurora. Its title, “Nightfall” was written in the corner. 

Maybe Victor had left it here or…she felt herself tense. Maybe Steve had left it? She smiled a little to herself, feeling silly. But it was a private thought and not one she would have shared or indulged. She’d never seen an aurora before—it looked amazing. 

She carefully withdrew the white-blue shard that created the intense heat in Natasha’s thermal knives, like two threads of blue blood that went down the blades. It was cracked. She got a new insert from the gear room and set about cleaning the knives.

They were light and solid. The grips were nice. _Wonder if they’d let me learn about knives like these?_

She resolved to ask. After all, the worst they could say was no.

 

 

 

“All right, so you’re Hydra-trained in combat, right?” Steve asked.

Rick Pines looked around at the other gathered Avengers—Sam Wilson, Sharon Carter, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov and Pietro Maximoff—he nodded a little nervously. “Yes, I was.”

“I wonder how their training compares to ours,” Sam mused, looking at Rick.

“My focus was science—not fighting.”

“Did Hydra differentiate?” Clint asked.

“Sometimes—it depended. My parents and my grandparents were part of Hydra—grandparents were all in hacking and munitions and then my parents were both combat police.”

“What did they think of Hydra sending you to college instead?” Natasha asked.

“They were…happy,” Rick said and glanced down. “They said that the scientists tended to live longer.”

Sharon shook her head to herself. 

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Pietro said, shrugging. Natasha fought back a little smile.

“Well, this is just for practice. We just want to see how you defend yourself,” Steve said. 

Rick nodded. He shifted on his feet, shook out his hands and then went into a basic form. His hands were loose, unfisted. So likely not a heavy hitter style of fighting like Rumlow knew. Something quick, precision strikes. And then Rick _moved_.

He was _fast_. Incredibly fast. Steve actually had to watch him—Rick was so nervous, he had thought the young man would be more hesitant, like Olivia. But he wasn’t at all. His strikes were absolutely on-point. They were all spots where a normal person’s bones were prone to fracture. 

Clint and Natasha watched the boy closely. He was trying to keep a distance from Steve—obviously knowing the Captain’s legendary strength. Steve was very much holding back, of course—and they both could see the gears turning in his blond head as he analyzed Rick’s fighting. The boy dodged Cap’s fist, went to dive under his arm—and then Cap had him by the shirt, flipping him around. 

“Wait,” Natasha said, peering at the young man. She came forward to the training wall, selecting a plain, solid oak bo staff. She tossed it to Rick and was totally unsurprised that he caught it with ease. She crossed her arms, pacing around them.

Rick looked at Steve, flipping the staff and waited for his nod before he settled in again. Steve glanced at Natasha, who nodded. That was enough for him. If Natasha wanted to examine the young man, Steve trusted her judgment. 

So Steve went at him again. The young man did a few testing probes, feeling the weight of the bo staff, before it lit up like lightning. It became a part of his arm. Now he had the reach to hit Steve without getting too close. Clint got up as well, Pietro followed him, observing the young man. 

It took about three strikes for Steve to calculate the speed and grab the staff. He hefted it up into the air. Rick let go immediately, dropping to his feet as the bo staff slid vertically down into Steve's large fist. The commander flipped it and raised his eyebrows.

Rick nodded again.

So Steve struck, this time using the staff himself. He jabbed and Rick dodged, swung back, spun around, dodged again—until suddenly, the young man turned on his heel and rooted himself as solid as a rock. He grabbed the end of the bo staff and punched his other fist through the wood. It splintered and Steve jerked back from him, flipping the remaining half to himself as the other hit the floor. He changed his stance slightly and Rick flickered up to him. He wasn’t as fast or as graceful as Natasha—but he appeared to have a lot of practice as he suddenly changed tactics again. Rick stepped into the super soldier instead of dodging away. He grabbed Steve’s shoulder, planted his foot on Steve’s knee and slammed his heel down into the Captain’s left wrist. A normal person would find their arm in similar shape to the bo staff, dangling in two splintered sections. Steve, of course, just paused in surprise and looked at Rick. 

Natasha was on the boy before he hit the ground. She twisted herself around him, flipping him head over heels and slammed him into the mat. She put her boot on his chest. “Who taught you to fight?”

Rick’s hands flew up to the sides of his head in surrender and he went limp immediately. “Marfushka Kehtov. She was from the Red Room. That was her job.”

“To train scientists to fight?”

“Not to the extent of the ladies of the Red Room, of course—but yes. That was her job. We were the last line of defense.”

“What do you mean?” Pietro asked. “The only scientists I ever seemed to meet were all old—not fighters.”

And then Rick suddenly seemed to really _see_ him. “So why didn’t you fight them?”

“Hydra had other methods to control us.”

“So…that was the safest place for the older scientists to be. People my age were usually assigned to subjects who…weren’t as dangerous—and could be controlled by typical methods.”

“Typical methods?” Steve asked as Natasha let Rick stand.

“Pain and a cell. Most people can’t do anything at that point. Once they’re in pain and locked up—you don’t have to worry. But…would you trust a metal door to control the Winter Soldier, Quicksilver,” and here he glanced at Pietro, “and Scarlet Witch?”

“So why was Rumlow holding Harkness there with scientists like you?”

“I definitely wasn’t Rumlow’s first choice. He found me because we’re all he could find. The only reason I met Harkness at _all_ is because there was no one else. I’d never even _heard_ of her until this. But apparently, Hydra has a whole file on her.”

“Above your pay grade?” Clint asked.

“Yes,” Rick said earnestly. “It was. I’d _heard_ of the Winter Soldier and of the Maximoff twins—but I’d never _seen_ any of you. All I knew was, Hydra must have an amazing training program _somewhere_. It sounds weird—“

“You never asked?”

“—but, see, you don’t. People get used to the structure. The control. It’s comfortable for them. They assume that everyone else is doing whatever it is that they’re supposed to do. Even Rumlow was like that sometimes. The obsession with Hydra…it’s….like a sickness. And those who get it….never seem to really…be themselves afterwards.”

“So why aren’t you sick with it?” Natasha circled him again.

“I don’t know. Why are you _here_ , Black Widow? My instructor, Marfushka Kehtov, she wasn’t supposed to talk about the Red Room. But one time—she did. She told us that she’d been trained by the Winter Soldier, the legendary assassin. And when we asked what he was like, you know what she said? She says, _He was…very kind. For the Red Room._ ”

Natasha tensed a little.

“And when all you know is Hydra….I believed it. No—I was _resigned_ to it. It was all I knew. I didn’t want it—but it didn’t matter what I wanted. Why _should_ it matter, what I wanted? But I was curious about the Red Room after that and I looked into it.” Rick pulled his sweaty hair from his face. “Did you know that the Hydra sect with the _most_ dissent, is the Red Room?”

Natasha blinked. 

“They’re incredible fighters, extremely efficient killers. And when you mold a child to that—many don’t think to question. But there were far more cases in the Red Room of those who _did_. The Red Room has more agents that went rogue than any other sect in Hydra.”

“Where did they go?” Natasha asked him.

“I don’t know. If I knew that, then they wouldn’t be very good Red Room agents. And they would definitely be dead.”

“So you said the younger scientists were all with, let’s say, non-magical, non-super-spy…projects that Hydra worked on, right? And you said you were the last line of defense. What did you mean by that?” Steve asked him.

Rick looked haggard, standing in the middle of a ring of Avengers. “I mean, that…we had guards and combat police—like you saw in Argentina—but if something got into a Hydra base—then it was probably going to be beyond whatever guards were there anyway. I mean—only _you_ guys have ever just shown up and crashed a Hydra base. So….the guards were…” Rick glanced down. “They were…basically, distractions. They were supposed to hold off whoever was attacking to give the scientists time to figure out what they could send out or destroy. And then they were to die with the rest. Because information is…more valuable than any gold. You were never supposed to be taken alive.”

Rick put his hands on his hips. “And I started to think about that. That if Hydra was so great—why would it not want to…share it? Why would it try to keep it a secret? Why would someone even be _fighting_ Hydra, if they were supposedly the last good in the world? If people are such _sheep_ than why does Hydra fight so hard to keep them? And if people are so wonderful, then why does Hydra throw their lives away? Why does Hydra want _fear_ instead of _respect_? Or maybe the better question is, why does Hydra think those two things are the same?”

“Oh,” Natasha said and smiled as she shook her head. “Bet they didn’t like that.”

“They didn’t. So I kept quiet and tried to figure out what was actually true and what was the propaganda. And when I realized that Rumlow had actually _captured_ an Avenger—Bruce Banner, _Doctor_ Bruce Banner—his work is incredible. Have any of you read it?”

The gathered group glanced at each other.

Rick sighed. “It’s amazing. You should read it sometime.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” Sam muttered. Beside him, Sharon suppressed a chuckle and bumped him with her shoulder.

“The point is—his work was to try to emulate the serum that turned Steve Rogers into Captain America.” Rick looked up at Steve. “And I had to wonder…that even if someone could create a perfect match to the serum they used on you…would it be the same if given to someone else. Someone who wasn’t _you_. Was it more about the serum itself, or more who you were as a person?”

Steve’s gaze flickered, mind wandering to Erskine. The only one besides Bucky who’d ever believed in him. Who’d seen something in him that he felt was worth a damn. He looked back at Rick. “Which do you think it is?”

“I think it’s you.” Rick shrugged. “So when Banner was brought in and I confirmed that it was him…I…I started thinking about it all again and I decided to help him.”

“That was brave,” Steve told him. “They could have killed you. We could have killed you.”

Something crossed Rick’s face that was hard to interpret. “You came six thousand miles because you got a single text out of the blue that said your friend was in trouble.” He looked down, away from their gazes. “You all dropped everything to come for him. I assumed it would be weeks, if anything came of it. But within eighteen hours—Avengers storm the base. All for one person. One person. Your friend.”

Steve looked down, realizing.

“People in Hydra wouldn’t have done that. Our most powerful members would never have done something so reckless.”

“So what does that mean to you?” Sharon asked, watching the boy.

“It means that…you don’t….” he shifted uncomfortably. “It means that…people are important to you. It’s not _just_ about an impossible ideal that is almost unachievable. Because no one can live on ideals alone. They have to care about _something_ to help them get up in the morning. You didn’t bring a bunch of grunts to serve as meat shields while you guys did the ‘important’ stuff. You came _yourselves_. You didn’t bring anyone to die for someone they’d never met for people who wouldn’t remember their names. You came yourselves. So…there must be something important there.”

Rick looked back at Steve. “That was why, when the Winter Soldier went rogue after DC—people went crazy—everything fell apart. That Hydra had lost control of one of their most infamous ghost stories—that was when the Red Room really felt it. He’d trained a _lot_ of their operatives. A lot of them started to wonder about what they were really doing. At least, that’s what I read,” he said, gesturing for Natasha for her to add or correct him. 

“Yeah, you’re right. A lot of us did. Others felt betrayed and promised to find him so they could kill him. But…a lot of us….well. I’m here, aren’t I? That should tell you something.”

“And now I am too—providing you all don’t plan to immediately kill me.”

“Well, maybe not immediately,” Sam said.

“No one is going to hurt you,” Steve said, shooting Sam an annoyed look. 

“Then whatever I know is open to you,” Rick said quietly.

Steve nodded.

“And, Captain,” Rick said, waiting until Steve met his gaze, “...the Winter Soldier. What….state is he in?”

“He knows who he is.”

“He always knew who he was,” Rick said quietly, looking at the floor. “He couldn’t have been friends with you otherwise. It was, ironically, what made him such an incredible killer that also was what took Hydra’s control away.”

Natasha’s eye sharpened. “You mean when he saw Steve?”

“No, Agent. I mean when Captain Rogers said his name-- _Bucky_. Hydra knew he had some silly nickname but almost no one called him by that. No one except for you and some of the Commandoes. They dismissed it. And while he lost names, places, people—everything….he remembered that someone had called him that.” Rick really looked at him. “That’s incredible. Do you realize that? That they’ve sent him all over the world, they sent him to kill his _friends_ …they showed him footage of _you_ from World War II _and_ from the present. Nothing. So when they made the decision to bring him out of stasis….they thought long and hard about it. And they felt you were a greater risk and that their control of Sergeant Barnes was so complete that they could _surely_ send him after you. After all, you met him on the rooftop and he simply left you there. No reaction to it at all. But then, on a busy highway after beating the hell out of each other—suddenly you realize your friend that you thought was dead, is the man you’re fighting. And you call him the _one_ thing that he was able to hide from Hydra. That name. Bucky. That was what changed everything. They didn’t even realize it was there. It was basically—a trigger word. You know about the trigger words, right?”

They nodded.

“Well, they needed _ten_ words to control the Winter Soldier. But only _one_ would wake up Bucky Barnes.”

“How do you know all this? Where were you when this was happening?” Clint asked.

“I was stationed in Istanbul. By the way, there’s a Hydra base in Istanbul, if you didn’t already know. When all of Shield and Hydra’s data was released—we had immediate blackout. We were not to discuss the information, we weren’t to read it. I did anyway. But when Rumlow found me—he talked about that fight. A _lot_.”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “A lot?”

“Yeah, a lot. Obsessively. He would go over _every_ goddamn detail of what he considered, I assume, to be the most delicious tragedy when Captain fucking America suddenly reunites with Bucky Barnes, a man who is definitely trying really hard to murder him. And realized that Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier—two entities he didn't even think about in the same sentence—were the _same person_. He enjoyed that moment. Even more when you said his name and the Winter Soldier _responded_ with sarcasm, with the word ‘hell’. Suddenly we had a new problem. Rumlow went on and on about the nickname. For hours. Hours. He would talk about it. He _hated_ the Winter Soldier. He wanted the Winter Soldier to _break_ so that he could take his place. After Pierce had him put into the Chair—Rumlow went _back_ to stand guard while the scientists left. They didn’t know how weird he’d become about you and Barnes.”

 

 

 

Barnes looked at him immediately. Eyes all stupid and empty and dead. They stayed on him as Rumlow moved into the dark room. 

“So, your name is Bucky, huh?”

The Winter Soldier didn’t move, nothing flickered in his expression.

“Do you remember Steve Rogers? We told you he died, remember?”

“Yes,” he responded, flat and even.

“You remember how you cried?”

“Yes.”

“You remember how you tried to kill us and we brought you back.”

“Yes.”

Rumlow felt a flicker of irritation at the lack of emotion. He grabbed Barnes by the hair, moving his head to the side to stare into his face. “Do you remember Captain America?”

“Yes.”

“Who is he?”

“The only successful product of Erskine’s experimental formula to create the perfect soldier.”

“How did he die?”

Barnes hesitated.

“Go on, how did he die?”

“Captain America flew a plane into the sea, dashing Hydra’s hopes for a peaceful future. He died a martyr to the west.”

Rumlow studied him. “And how did Steve Rogers die?”

“Suicide.”

“Are they the same person?”

“No.”

Rumlow furrowed his eyebrows, fascinated. “How do you know?”

“Steve Rogers is dead.”

“So the Captain America you fought yesterday, _isn’t_ Steve Rogers.”

“Steve Rogers is dead.”

Rumlow rubbed the scruff on his face. “What if I told you that Steve Rogers _isn’t_ dead? That he survived. Like you did.”

The Winter Soldier’s eyes stopped following him, fixing across the room on the opposite wall and became blank and unfocused. “Steve Rogers is dead.”

“He did, _Bucky_. He _did_. And now you get to kill him.”

Rumlow took out a syringe and jabbed it into his arm. “Time for another dose.”

 

 

 

“He was dosing himself up with Bucky’s blood?” Steve said.

“That’s what he said,” Rick said.

“I wonder if that’s how he survived DC,” Sam mused.

“He insane, regardless. And I would definitely keep an eye out for him.”

“Sounds like a terrible boss,” Clint said.

Rick raised his eyebrows and winced a little. 

 

 

 

They tipped her back on the board, staring up at a white light. Lightening arced around them. There were heat waves, the smell of something burning. Her eyes faded and she felt hot blood running down the back of her nose into her throat. She gagged, swallowed and tried to spit it up. 

_It’s like a cage. Cage._

The board tipped up and she went with it. She gasped for breath, wheezing and feeling blood and water drain out of her face. “Cage!” She sobbed. “Cage! It’s cage!” 

“Yes, it is.” A shadow moved something.

The board tipped back again, submerging her face in the water. Lightening arced over them again, blood bubbling up from her nose and ears, hair burning in the water.

“It’s—“

 

Wanda jerked awake, grabbing into her nightshirt and scrambling up to her headboard. She kicked the covers off, hurriedly reaching for the lamp. It flickered warm, bright light. Wanda watched her shadow. She could still taste the blood in her throat. But it wasn’t her dream—it was someone else’s. That sort of terror—what if it were Bucky’s and—

She dashed up from her bed, pulling off her sweat-soaked shirt and pulling on a t-shirt and some soft shoes. She hurried out to the stairwell. The private quarters of the Avengers were all underground. Bucky lived on the second level. She lived on the third. The longer it took the more her anxiety grew: something was wrong. She reached his floor, dodging out into the hallway. She was near a sprint when she went to his door and knocked.

The door was locked and no one answered.

“Bucky,” she murmured to the door. She knocked again. No answer. “Jarvis, please let me in. Is Bucky in there?”

“I do not know, ma’am.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? I thought you knew everything?”

“Mister Barnes traveled outside the facility. Captain Rogers was with him.”

Wanda took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. Something was wrong, something was wrong. She raced to the elevator and hit the button to the hangar bay. If they’d left—someone would have seen it, surely?

She hurried in. The hangar bay was dim, only a few bay lights on at this hour of night. Except the gear station. Its walls from the waist up were made of glass. Major’s supplies and books and another large worktable was in the room. Surprisingly, she was still up. She appeared to be studying something. 

“Olivia! Miss Major!” She hurried into the room. There was music playing on the computer next to her. At first, Wanda thought the woman somehow hadn’t heard her but after a moment, she looked up.

“Wanda,” she said, softly.

“Did you see Bucky and Captain Rogers leave through here?”

Olivia looked at her, and then her eyes unfocused and she shook her head. “No. They didn’t.”

Wanda did a slight double-take at her. “Olivia?”

The woman responded slowly, meeting her eyes like she couldn’t quite see them properly. Wanda stepped nearer. “Olivia, are you all right?”

“Just…” and Olivia shook herself and looked down at the handgun that lay before her. “…nothing. It’s fine. I have to fix this.”

Wanda hesitated again—something about the gardener seemed…unsettled. And then, “Are you—“

An alarm went off on one of the monitors from the security hut across the hangar. One of the garage doors from the parking lot opened from the outside. Two figures entered—

And just like that, Wanda was gone.

She met them at the elevator. Steve frowned immediately. “What’s wrong? Did something happened?”

“No, I…” Wanda hesitated. “I…had a dream that didn’t seem like mine—I was just…um…I thought maybe you were….” She looked at Bucky and the pointedly _didn’t_ look at him _or_ Steve.

Steve glanced sidelong at Bucky. He raised his eyebrows. _You got this? You all right?_

Bucky swallowed hard and nodded. _I got this._

Steve double-raised his eyebrows and leaning in a little. _Are you sure?_

Bucky rolled his eyes grouchily, shoving at Steve’s shoulder. _I got it, jackwagon._

Steve smiled encouragingly.

Wanda saw Steve touch Bucky’s elbow and felt him give her shoulder a pat before he started to walk away. “Sounds like something for you two to talk about.”

Wanda looked away, mortified.

Bucky sighed softly. 

For a moment, they were both quiet. Then Bucky said:

“I’ll pay him back for that.”

Wanda smiled a little. “I’m sorry—I…did not know you were simply out with Steve. I…hope I did not embarrass you.”

“Nah, Steve’s caught me doing stuff that I probably shouldn’t talk about in…uh…nice. Nice company.” Bucky shook himself. “Shit. I mean.” He huffed in self-disgust. “I used to be really good at this.”

Wanda laughed. “So I’ve heard.”

Bucky smiled, gesturing ahead of him and they walked together to the elevator. When the doors closed on them, the silence fell heavy. They were shoulder to shoulder. She was fidgeting. She felt his gaze and glanced up. His smoke-blue eyes flickered, went down and back to her. 

She touched his face, fingers skimming over the stubble.

And they just sort of…folded together. She pressed up, he pressed in—their mouths met. She shuddered on a breath and his hackles rose. His metal fingers grabbed into her t-shirt and pulling her closer. 

The elevator pinged a warning as they reached her floor. Bucky jerked back like she’d burnt him. She stepped out of the box and he followed her. His eyes were darker and something in his posture switched. He _prowled_ beside her, as if a bodyguard. At her door, she swiped her keycard and then looked up at him.

He still didn’t quite meet her eyes. He glanced around to survey the hallway before looking back at her apartment door. “I can go,” he managed roughly. “I should go.”

Her hands were quick, snatching into his sleeve, then gently cupping the curve of his arm. When he looked back at her, she urged him closer. He responded, hand going to her waist again, fisting into the fabric of her shirt. She stepped back into her room. He shut the door.

He was on her immediately, folding her into him and their mouths met again. They both shuddered. It was strange to be touched by someone else. Besides Steve, of course—he seemed to need to touch everyone on the shoulder to make sure they were real. But so much of touching, feeling anything, it was just pain. There was no reward. Everyone betrays you or they die. Her fingers curled into the hair on the back of his neck anyway, holding him to her as he pinned her other hand to the wall with his metal one. 

The kiss was searing. When they broke apart, they stayed a quarter of an inch from each other. The only thing he could hear was her trembling breath and the only thing she could see where his eyes, blown wide and dark. He lifted his metal palm from the wall. “I…I don’t want to hurt you,” he said quietly, looking her in the eye. 

“Then don’t,” she answered, brushing her mouth against his.

She felt his flesh hand venture beneath the hem of her shirt, touching warm skin. She arched her spine, sliding her knee up to his hip. They ground against each other. She touched his jaw again, guiding him lower so she could place small kisses along his throat, breathing in the scent of him. She felt a tremor go through him and his metal hand slipped along her skin. She strangled a sound. The metal was cold at first. He cupped one breast, gently worrying the nipple with the metal fingers. He felt her hands push under his jacket, skimming over the buttons of his flannel shirt and then she started to pull them apart. She leaned back against the wall when she slid her hands under his shirt, touching the hard planes of muscle. He fought his jacket off, she pushed his flannel shirt back and helped him get it over the new cuff of the arm unit. 

He saw her nipples, hard against her t-shirt and she examined his bared skin. She skimmed lightly over the scar tissue around the shoulder mount. Bucky braced his palms on the wall on either side of her and bowed his head, trying to remember how to breathe.

Wanda stepped into him, gently wrapping her arms around him. “It’s all right.”

He shifted slightly, looking down at her as he slowly removed his hands from the wall. He wrapped them around her. She was warm and she smelled like spicy sugar and vanilla. He breathed into her hair. After a moment, Wanda urged him to sit with her on her couch. He lifted his new left hand, examining the plating before he carefully touched her hair with it. It didn’t tangle or catch, it skimmed through her hair just like a real hand. 

She leaned into his touch. How her eyes closed and her expression softened—she was painfully lonely. That was apparent. He couldn’t seem to help but lean in, kiss her again. Take away that lonely expression. She responded immediately, leaning into him. He followed her hands as she gently urged him onto his back on the couch. They were watching each other closely, carefully, as she leaned over him, hesitating.

Bucky let his hands find her hips and urged her to lie on his chest. He got one thigh inbetween hers and felt her shudder. It was slow, hesitant, searching as he braced himself and rolled his hips against hers, watching her expression. Watching how her eyes got darker, pupils wide and black. Her soft cotton trousers were so warm against the rough leather and canvas of his pants. Her thigh was small and rounded and firm against his own. They moved again, grinding against each other. He was hard against her abdomen. He pulled her tighter into him, holding her against him. She made a breathless sound, a gasp and then looked down to let her hair shield her face. 

Pleasure quickened up his spine like lightning. It had been a very, _very_ long time. But no time to think on it now, as they moved together. She braced her hands on him, narrow hips sliding in his grasp. She shook a little, a tremor rippling up her body that left her gasping quietly. And then she redoubled her efforts, working herself against him, until his eyes unfocused. He looked away, screwing his eyes shut when he came in his trousers. She slid down to his chest and he held her. They were both breathless, shaking a little. 

It was a long moment before Wanda said, quietly, “If you want…you can have a shower and sleep here?”

Bucky looked down at her. “I…would like that.”

“I’ll make some tea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH
> 
>  
> 
>  


	18. Nightfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Bucky/Wanda  
> \-------------------
> 
>  
> 
> “Goodbye, my darling,” Peggy said softly, many years ago at daybreak on the bridge, swallowing back the shake in her voice. She tipped the vial and the last bit of Steve Rogers that remained, slipped into the bay beneath.
> 
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_“What do you see!”_

_”Nothing!”_

_“Again.”_

_Terrible struggling, water flooded into her nose. The shocks of electricity seared into her head, bright hot sharp pain and her teeth were buzzing._

_The board flipped up again. Blood sloshed out of her nose again as she wheezed for air. Her vision swayed back—_

_“What do you SEE through the window!”_

_She closed her eyes, and opened them again. “Nothing.”_

 

 

 

Wanda awoke with a tiny breath. She was lying on the couch, curled up. It was very comfortable. Very warm. Was it a lazy day? Why was she waking up on the….

She felt his thigh shift slightly between hers. She almost tensed up, jerked away…and then didn’t. She relaxed back into him, feeling his hand sliding up her waist. He had a pillow braced on his metal arm, where she’d rested her head. She hadn’t thought about it last night—but his arm being metal _did_ mean that it wouldn’t fall asleep or cramp up. She almost laughed—

But then Bucky’s warm palm reached her breast. His touches were almost carefully gentle. He knew what he was doing—that seemed to be true (from the accounts she’d read about Barnes, he’d been very popular with women). And yet, there was an odd, stilted unfamiliarity to his touch. Like he sort of remembered women but this part was…perhaps still raw? Painful?

That made her turn her head, letting his palm settle over her breast. He looked down at her, still and silent but she sensed it, could feel it—how his touch lightened immediately. Still barely there, but ready to jerk away. Ah, but of course he did. Spies and assassins had to teach their guts and then trust their gut. Whatever they felt in the first split second—they must commit to that. Go or stay. You might die no matter which way you turn. Natasha was notorious for that. When she led strike teams, she was not good at delegating at _all_. She made split-second decisions that the others might disagree with but they had to follow. In time, they learned to trust her. The best ones, Natasha kept an eye on—to possibly be considered for the Avengers spy network. How Natasha went with her gut, steamrolled onward and just dealt with whatever happened—that was how Bucky was. He had chosen to touch her and he was not ashamed but he also would do as she commanded.

“Hey,” Bucky said, half-smiling. “Get outta my head. I’m over here.”

Wanda smiled up at him. “Sorry, I just…”

“I imagine it’s as natural to you as my arm. You look in. Who wouldn’t, right? I get this…I dunno, twinge, maybe? When you’re doing it.”

“Some have said this: my brother, Clint as well.”

Bucky sat up a little. “Oh yeah….Loki had him, right? I read reports about it afterwards. I mean…after I was…”

“I understand,” she said gently and reached up. She placed her hand on top of his knuckles, her t-shirt separating them. 

“I wonder why Loki being in his head for a while made him immune to you?”

Wanda blinked. “I don’t know…..perhaps it was Loki’s magic?”

“But then how did Steve break the hold….” Bucky mused and she saw his eyes go away for a moment as he filed that thought back for study later.

She turned to face him on the narrow couch. She moved her palm from his knuckles to his chest, mirroring his touch. He shifted into her, she felt the tremor in his flesh hand. He was so fractured in some ways. A man who could only vaguely recollect physical affection and intimacy as distant memory and yet…did his body remember more than he did? That could be—muscle memory was powerful. 

As to her own experience, well….street living in a warzone was dangerous in a lot of way and then being selected by Hydra for their special program hadn’t left time to discover anything nice about it. Few and far between. 

But the way his eyes darkened in the dim room, blunted by her curtains but giving enough buttery, cool light that she could see the heavy circles under Bucky’s eyes. The searching look he gave her as she felt him shift his left arm out from under her. It shifted her away from the edge of the couch and closer to him. He took another deep breath silently, his fingers twitched as he focused to keep them still as he leaned over her.

She kissed him, feeling how it gave him little lights of warmth, bursts of warmth that were both familiar and strange. She slid her thigh against his own, felt him duck in and breathe at her throat. “Bucky…” she breathed softly. 

She felt him tense up all over, heard him shudder. Her grip tightened. “There’s…we can….in the other room…..”

He lifted his eyes. They were hard, heavy and dark—like the Winter Soldier was when he was fighting—it was intense and left Wanda feeling…oddly breathless. He waited for her to stand and then prowled behind her as she walked down the hallway of her apartment to her bedroom. Bucky had never seen her bedroom before. She watched him take it in quickly. Drapes made of lost scarves, little windchimes by the vents. She had no comforters, only quilts. There was a heavy mat of them on her bed. Two of them, she’d made herself when she and Pietro were homeless. The others had come to her in many different ways. The weight was what she liked. She slept better when there was weight on her. She felt more secure or something. There were prisms with little rainbow reflections. Two clocks that didn’t work. A computer at her desk, along with several open books and some notes. There was a map pinned to the wall. Thankfully, she’d done all the embarrassing floor-laundry yesterday.

Wanda glanced at him again to take in his expression. 

It took him a moment and then, “Oh—it’s kind of bohemian. It’s cozy.”

“The Winter Soldier just said the word ‘cozy’.”

Bucky laughed quietly and she felt his hands find her shirt again. “I’m still at least _partially_ Bucky.”

“Which part?”

The made him pause, hesitating. His smile fell back into something thoughtful, then—

Wanda touched his face to bring him back. “The cozy part,” she told him and wrapped her arms around his neck. She felt him shudder as he struggled to reconcile that he might pick and choose parts of the Soldier and of Bucky when he needed them—so without the Soldier _or_ Bucky….who was he really? 

“The part that makes Steve smile.”

He leaned up to look at her. “Make him smile?” 

“He never smiled. His smiles were…fake. It was a mask he wore. When they woke him up, the world went mad for Captain America. And all he knew was that he blacked out and woke up and seventy years were gone. All his friends and family were dead. Everyone who knew his story, who lived it with him, was dead.” She studied his face. “When he found you…he would _not_ stop until he could see you again. And the idea that the only person who remained is someone he might be forced to kill…that’s why he was going to let you kill him in DC. Do you remember him ever giving up?”

Bucky shook his head quietly, watching her. Something heavy and sad in his expression.

“He gave up. When he realized that maybe you really _didn’t_ remember him….and that sense of _utter_ aloneness crushed him. And he couldn’t kill you. He would never hurt you. And he would never stop until he could protect you. Like you protected him all those years ago.”

She’d never been able to read into someone’s expressions and thoughts and feelings so deeply this quickly. Maybe it was the odd things they had in common. She wiped her eye. “But now, he smiles again. Even when you do things that he doesn’t understand. He will never not be patient with you, Bucky. He smiles. It lights up his eyes when he smiles.”

Bucky looked at her for a long moment, swallowing hard and took a deep breath, a little overwhelmed. “I…” He looked down and then back at her. He almost turned away and then suddenly, didn’t. He grabbed the psychic around the waist and set her on her bed. Her fingers flew to his belt while he pulled her shirt off. 

There was a flicker of hesitation when she unzipped his trousers. She looked up at him and waited for his confirmation before she touched him. He grunted, leaning in to kiss her, pressing her onto her back. He kept his metal arm beneath to support him and let his flesh palm wander her skin. There were scars, a savage burn that roped up her left ribcage. Two circles, whitened with age, which Bucky could see were from gunshot wounds. A tear up her sternum lanced across her right breast—some kind of slashing knife-wound. He glanced to her face and saw her looking away, uncertain.

“Hey,” he said, sliding his palm over her breast.

“Sorry, it’s—“ Wanda turned her head back and Bucky met her there, cutting her off with a kiss. She felt his thumb linger over the scar. 

“It’s okay. They’re okay, the scars. It’s just skin.”

A little reassurance went a long way. 

She felt something bubble up in her, something between a laugh and a gasp, a strange little sob. Her hands slid up his chest and pulled him down to her. His palm slid down her skin, over her navel and pausing for a moment before venturing into damp curls and hot, slick flesh. She felt him touch there, slipping through her folds. 

His expression was oddly fixed on her. He studied her reactions as he touched her, clearly analyzing. It was so intense that she looked away, a little embarrassed.

“It’s all right,” he murmured, suddenly breathy, low, hot by her ear. “Relax.”

His strokes widened into circles, massaging over her—like he was both remembering and learning. That’s right because when you got a girl relaxed, she enjoyed it more and so did he. Have to show you won’t hurt her, have to show you care about her pleasure as much as his own. Women were brought up knowing that the biggest risk to their lives were the men who tried to control them. So of course, many were nervous about being intimate with men, especially if they’d been hurt—

His circles tightened around her clit, he kissed her temple and she forgot to pay attention to anything else. 

 

 

 

 

Steve paused in the hallway.

_To see what fifteen cents could do._  
_One meat ball,_  
_One meat ball,_  
_One meat ball,_  
_All he could get was one meat ball._

“The Andrews Sisters,” he muttered. He remembered the cadence and tone—if not all the words. That song was still new when he’d gone into the ice. But he remembered hearing one of the Commandoes sing it—though they’d changed the lyrics to something about punching Nazis. 

“Nazis,” Steve grumped a little and entered the hangar bay. The music got louder as he went. He walked into the actual hangar and paused in the doorway. Olivia was standing at one of the work tables singing into a knife grip to one of the robots (Kibeth, he thought). 

The song had changed and her voice echoed alone in the hangar bay as she belted out, _"That’s why the Lady is a tramp!"_

Alistair suddenly spun in a circle and beeped. 

She whirled around, jumping a little when she saw him. “Steve—I…oh. Hi. Um. Can I…help you?”

He watched the flush start at her ears, burning down her neck. She looked mortified. He smiled a little. “No, just—I knew the song.”

“Oh,” she said and blinked. “ _Oh_. Right. Of course you do. Haha.” She cleared her throat, looking down. 

He saw the slow _goddammit-why-did-I-say-that_ expression come across her face and almost laughed out loud. 

“I haven’t seen you upstairs in the last couple days. Everything all right?” He asked instead.

“I…oh, well, I…um—I guess I wasn’t really sure what to…or if I even could go by myself—I mean. I’m being watched all the time, right?”

“Standard procedure—nothing personal. Nat’s doing the same thing with Victor. Have you spoken to him?”

“To Vic—I…well. No. He’s been busy.”

“What’s the issue between you two? Is it because you’re adopted?”

She blinked and then shifted a little. “Ah, I suppose that would be a matter of public record or whatever. We just never hit it off the way his parents hoped we would.”

“How old was he?” Steve asked, coming forward to her worktable and examining the oil she was working into Sam’s flight pack. 

“He was seven. I was ten.”

“Where were you before that?”

Olivia shrugged. “I was born in Idaho. Somewhere. I guess someone found me out there and I ended up in Indiana. ”

“Don’t remember much though?”

“Yeah—well, no, I remember riding in a car a _lot_. But otherwise—my mom was probably a methhead. Anyway—so his parents were hoping we’d be friends. But what he saw was—his parents brought in a kid to replace him. Which makes sense to a child. It happens sometimes. If all siblings got along, there wouldn’t be any wars to read about, I guess.”

Steve came forward to sit down at one of her two chairs. “I guess it was a topic of debate among a couple of the others—Wanda suggested that perhaps you had no memories of your time before you were adopted.”

“My memory is kind of shit,” she said and shrugged. “But I write myself a lot of notes.”

Steve shook his head. “I think they mean what happened with Sebasilla. We were all shaken by what we saw and we didn’t realize that we hadn’t seen similar things. I guess they were curious about why you didn’t see anything when the rest of us did.”

Olivia looked at the ground. “I dunno. I wish I could tell you. I remember walking into the room. Bucky had some woman at gunpoint and you were…” She glanced away, then down.

“What?” he asked gently.

“You were looking right at me—with eyes like a dead doll. Victor was shaking on the floor, throwing up, I think. And Natasha…she, uh—she just….sunk down, staring. It was…creepy. Like a dead dollhouse. But when I looked at Bucky…he was fighting something so hard that he was sweating. I remember the woman saying _something_ …..there was…I don’t know. Something. And then I realized I could hear you and Bucky talking. Then I woke up. But that’s all I remember.”

Steve studied her face, seeing how much she wanted to understand. “Wanda thought maybe the lady just wanted to keep you still so she could deal with Bucky.”

She shrugged a bit. “That could be—it’s probably all it was—“

“Have you had any weird dreams lately?” He asked. 

Steve saw the split-second she hesitated and then look down to pretend to think about it. He watched her eyes search the floor and when they came back up he caught them immediately. He stared her in the eye. He watched her shift back a little, looking down and around and then back up to his gaze. 

“I’ve had some bad dreams, I guess. But—with everything that’s happened, it’s not surprising.”

Steve kept peering at her. Her body language had totally changed. From the moment he walked in, he could see the brightness in her when she smiled at him. He sensed the shift every time he saw her. It made her seem lighter, more at ease. Yet, the others had said she often seemed shy and quiet. She’d taken up residence in the hangar bay and spent all day fixing things for them and never questioned why they would let her. And yet….from what Bucky had said and what Steve had seen during training…she had the potential. Her body had taken to training very well. She looked more confident and her fighting was steadily improving. It was strange, teaching someone to fight from the ground up. But when she could forget everything except listening for his movements—her eyes seemed to burn bright and then smolder. They were almost hazy. A little bit of that tension came across in her tone. She was tensing up, her pulse was starting to race. She must be thinking about the bad dreams.

“Do you want to talk about them?”

She recoiled a little. “I—oh, no. It’s okay. It’s fine.”

“You don’t have to be ashamed. We all have bad dreams.”

“Do they ever go away?”

“Not completely,” Steve said quietly. “But less, at least, so far.” He was quiet for a beat, examining her. She had really bright eyes. “So you said you had a bad memory—but you seem to remember all kinds of music. You were singing pretty confidently?”

“Music is different,” she said immediately, showing no hesitance at all, eyes going far away. “Music is in so many things. And it’s just so natural for us to make when we find it. But…music is completely different from one person to the next and what that means to them….I dunno. Most people don’t like just _one_ style of music. So what is it that draws people to certain chords and tones? Why is birdsong so beloved by so many but I can’t stand listening to it. It’s like a hammer and nail. I hate it.” She chuckled a little, and suddenly realized she’d spoken in a gush. She looked down and Steve watched her eyes dim a little. “Sorry,” she said. “Ha, got too excited. I like music. A little bit.”

“It’s fine. I asked you, remember? Don’t worry about it.”

Her expression eased again. This is what her other instructors must have meant. He’d spoken with them when he couldn’t teach her himself and they trained her on his behalf sometimes. Both of them had told him the same thing when he asked them to analyze her body language, posture and general attitude towards combat and criticism. 

She took every piece of criticism very seriously. Almost too seriously. So much that she would start to become anxious about it. She was rigid, less focused, always on edge.

But when he was there, she was totally different. She was much more at ease, she took criticism from him rather well, intent and focused. Bucky had said something similar. She was very nervous at first but once she got used to him, she liked learning from him.

“Oh, ha!” She suddenly barked out a laugh. “Remember—because my memory is shit—haha! I just got it.”

Steve peered at her blankly. “What?”

“Uh. Oh. Uh—nothing. Sorry.”

Thankfully, his phone buzzed to interrupt the awkward silence. He checked it, felt his heart flicker when he saw the name of Peg’s doctor.

**Its Peg. Hurry.**

He froze and then looked at Olivia. “I have to go. I’m sorry. We’ll talk later.”

He whirled around and sprinted for the elevator. He stepped in just as Sam called him. “Sam—is Sharon with you?”

“Yeah, we’re on our way over. Where are you?”

“Coming down to the garage.”

“We’ll pick you up outside.”

 

 

Steve jumped into the SUV’s backseat and shut the door. “Go,” he said quietly. 

Sharon glanced at him from the front seat. “Steve…”

“I know,” Steve said quietly. “She’s…” he took a quick breath. “She had to go on without me.”

By the time they arrived, her breathing had turned raspy. “Steve,” she murmured.

“Peg,” he said, sitting on the edge of her bed and holding her hand.

“Glad you came back.”

The doctor exchanged a few quiet words with Sam as Sharon circled the bed to sit on Peggy’s other side. 

“Aunt Peg…”

“Sharon…..don’t let them take you like they did to Howard…” Something shaky went through her voice. 

“They’re not, Aunt Peg,” Sharon said, keeping her voice even. “They can’t anymore.”

Steve watched Peg’s beautiful, intelligent, fierce eyes—like he had when she stood in the street, shooting her pistol at that car. That had scared him a lot. And he could do something about it then. But now…this was simply a span of life, like a dying star.

It was—

“Oh, shit—Bucky. You have to call Bucky!” Steve said, turning in his chair.

Sam dodged out the door to do so.

Steve looked back at her. “Peg….” 

She squeezed his hand. “You’ll have to move on now, Steve. It’s unfair, isn’t it? When I could remember, I think I truly stopped believing in God when they found you alive. That you were taken away and return when I’m old and dying and now you have to go on without me.”

Sharon put a hand over her mouth, bowing her head.

“Everyone is gone….” Peg murmured, eyes welling up. “I want to be here for you—“

“Peg,” Steve managed, swallowing hard. “You did…so much. For me and for everyone. You did everything you could. And you endured. And now I will too. Sharon is a good friend—and I think we’ll work all right together.”

“She might have been your niece, I suppose.”

Steve looked at Sharon and smiled a little.

“Can I call you Uncle Steve anyway?” Sharon asked, smiling and wiping her eyes.

Steve chuckled faintly.

Peg’s breathing rattled and she squeezed Steve’s hand again. “Steve…”

“I’m here,” he murmured, cupping her thin hand in both of his. 

Something wheezed through her chest.

“We got to dance, didn’t we?”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah, we did. You showed me how.”

It fell softer, softer and then stopped. 

Steve bowed his head, silent. 

 

 

 

“Goodbye, my darling,” Peggy said softly, many years ago at daybreak on the bridge, swallowing back the shake in her voice. She tipped the vial and the last bit of Steve Rogers that remained, slipped into the bay beneath.

 

 

 

Steve stared at the punching bag for a long time. He was numb all over. Peg was gone. She was gone. Ten hours ago. 

Two hours ago they’d returned to the compound. 

Steve had slowly changed clothes and made his way here. He stared at the punching bag. He’d felt that crushing numbness when he’d lost Bucky on the train. 

Bucky had shown up at the facility on foot—no one was sure how he got there and he didn’t provide an explanation. Sam let him in and Bucky had stayed at Steve’s side the whole time as Sharon dealt with the paperwork and facility managers. Sam stayed by Sharon, watching the three of them who’d personally known a woman he’d only ever read about in school. He touched Sharon’s shoulder and let her lean on him a little. 

When they’d returned, Sam left with Sharon and Wanda had been waiting for them in the parking garage. She embraced Steve and then took Bucky’s hand. Steve smiled when he saw it. 

Bucky looked a little awkward, then furrowed his eyebrows. _You wanna come with us?_

“I think I’ll go work out for a while,” Steve said, half-smiling at him. “Go on.”

He and Wanda _both_ looked at him, extra hard.

Steve nodded. “It’s all right. Go on.”

And now Captain America was here. In the gym on the 12th floor. It had a boxing ring. A helpless punching bag hung in the middle of it. He hit it three times and then his mind blanked—to that kiss on the runway—and the sandbag burst apart. 

Steve sighed heavily and closed his eyes.

A small sound caught his attention and he looked into the rest of the empty gym. Or, perhaps, not as empty as he thought. The table where all his gear was lying, beside it was a bottle of water and some graham crackers. Also, a broom. 

The door to the gym was closing.

“Jarvis, who was that?” 

“It was Miss Major, Captain Rogers.” 

Steve hopped down to the ground and went to the table. He picked up the broom. It was a little annoying at first, something presumptive about the gardener-mechanic leaving him a _broom_. But when he took it into the ring and started to sweep the sand…it was…soothing. In an odd sort of way. Manipulating the sand to one corner of the ring. He had to focus on it—or the sand would escape the broom and leave trails behind. 

It was strange….but he felt better after he’d moved all the sand to one spot. Over an hour had passed. 

He knew the news had broken to the public when his phone started lighting up over and over again. Every news station in the country wanted his comments about the death of the woman he’d loved. Thankfully, Pepper had assigned him a PR secretary called Jim Sciaccio. He showed up like clockwork in the gym. He was wearing a suit and leather shoes. He went to Steve’s phone and lifted it, looking at Steve.

He nodded to him.

So the man took Steve’s phone with him to go through the calls and requests. 

Bucky showed up about twenty minutes later in a t-shirt and sweats. “Want some exercise?” 

“Yes,” Steve answered and smiled faintly.

“Couldn’t leave you here alone, pal. It felt wrong.” Bucky shook out his hands. “I’d say we should go into the ring—but I doubt that would be enough room for us.”

“It wouldn’t,” Steve agreed and smiled. 

Bucky approached him. “Steve…she….” He looked down, shaking his head. “I just…”

“You’re still here,” Steve said quietly. “You’re still here.”

“Yeah,” Bucky answered, putting an arm around Steve’s shoulders like a brother.

 

 

 

The funeral was held two days later. 

Steve acted as a pole-bearer. It was hard to process it all. Sharon fought back tears when she talked about her aunt. Steve didn’t say anything to anyone. They invited him to speak, of course, but he couldn’t. Sam sat with him. Bucky and Natasha had arrived with them but hadn’t come inside. Maria Hill and several other former members of SHIELD were there in Peggy’s honor. Even Tony had come in a somber black suit and no sunglasses. 

At the end, Steve sat in his chair and didn’t move. Sam stayed to keep people away from him and when it emptied out, he touched Steve’s shoulder and went to wait outside. 

After a long moment, Steve stood and went to the casket, blanketed in a British flag. He touched the colors and stripes. He touched her photograph behind a glass frame. “I guess this it it...for real this time..."

Steve cried silently. He never cried in front of anyone. It was always choked and silent. “Ha, you’d tell me not to, I know,” he murmured to her photograph. “Like with Bucky.” 

_He must have damn well thought you were worth it._

“I wasn’t, Peg. Not for everything he went through. I wasn’t. Maybe someday.”

When he finally turned around, Bucky was sitting in the front row. He stood up when Steve saw him. He didn’t say anything, just waited until Steve walked over and then walked beside him. His friend was wearing jeans and sweatshirt and a jacket and a ballcap, which wasn’t surprising, really. They were clean though, that was a plus.

Natasha was waiting outside the double-doors of the church. The spy and the assassin seemed to automatically flank him to the back exit, ushering him into a waiting car so he wouldn’t get mobbed by the press. 

Steve watched out the windows as the world passed him by. Seemingly, in more ways than one.

 

 

 

He felt Bucky tense beside him, Natasha leaned forward at the wheel and stopped the car. “Shit,” she said, softly.

Ahead, the Avengers compound stood. 

It was burning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Lady is a Tramp: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TQkIccS-W4U
> 
> [The Lady is a Tramp - Tony Bennet and Lady Gaga duet: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZPAmDULCVrU ]
> 
> One Meatball: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gpZh7_pMdhw
> 
>  
> 
> Also: In the Crossovers I didn't know I needed Category
> 
> http://sailtheplains.tumblr.com/post/157421236360/shield-was-born
> 
>  
> 
>  


	19. Garden Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You will _never_ threaten them again.” Wanda felt something unhinge in her head. Like opening a box. Her mind expanded, flooding over them, over him, focusing in on Rumlow.
> 
> \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A man's voice was singing about a bad moon being on the rise—when the computer suddenly shut off.

Olivia stopped at her worktable, looking over at the computer and then up. “Did we lose power?” She said.

Jarvis did not answer. Kibeth beeped and attempted to communicate with the wifi.

“How did that even happen?” Olivia muttered. She walked across the bay to the security hut and checked out some of the cameras. All the screens were dark. 

Cassandra beeped, pointing with a claw to an emergency light sign.

Olivia went to it, turned the little key and opened the clear, plastic door. Inside was some sort of pull bar. She curled her fingers around it and braced herself, hearing it scrape out into the air. 

The hangar bay flickered and then red emergency lights pulsed on, drenching Clint’s jet in red shadows. 

Alistair beeped again.

“It’s okay,” Olivia called out to him, like he needed to be soothed. 

“The base has—it’s—level four—“

Olivia looked up at the ceiling. “Jarvis?”

“Miss Major, I appear to—there are—difficulties—and—wi-wi-with emergency restart, I appear to be offline.” His voice was dragging, like lag in a computer game.

“Okay, that can’t be good,” Olivia said. She waved a hand to Kibeth and Cassandra, who wheeled over to Alistair and she herded the Starkbots into the gear-drop station. She grabbed her phone and blinked. “My phone is dead.”

The hangar bay gate opened. The gate was two hundred feet long and over seventy-five feet high. And yet, the door lifted. It wasn’t done easily, no. The door shuddered, sagging around the singular point of force. A shadow slid inside and the door slammed down.

Olivia grabbed one of Sam’s handguns and pointed to the robots. “Stay here. Get a message out, if you can. Something’s wrong.”

All three of the bots beeped, perhaps in protest, as she shut them inside the gear drop. 

Just like Bucky had taught her, Olivia slid out into the dim red light. She tucked herself around the corner, looking for who had entered. Someone strong enough to lift the door by hand—would have to be Bucky, or Steve or Mister Stark. Wanda wouldn’t need to lift it by hand. 

She held the handgun at eye-level, bracing her palm like Natasha had shown her (last Thursday when she’d found the firing range and been told that all compound employees and residents had free access to it). 

She leaned into dark corners and shadows. But she saw no-one. “Bucky?” She asked, almost a whisper, faint. And then stronger, “Bucky! Is that you?”

“Yeah! Where are you?”

Relief flooded her. All panicked for nothing. Typical. But—she supposed she’d rather panic and have it be nothing than not act and have something explode in her face. She went out from between two helicopters to where a man was standing under one of the red lights. 

As far as she knew—he was at Peggy Carter’s funeral with the others—so whatever was happening, he must already know about it. Maybe something had happened at the funeral? That would be awful. Steve had been through so much—

The man turned to face her.

“Who the hell are you?” She said, tensing around the gun.

The man was definitely not Bucky. He was around the same height though, with short brown hair. The side of his face looked burnt. He was in full tactical gear with some strange white X sprayed on it. 

“You Olivia Major?” said the man.

Olivia glanced around the silent hangar bay. “Yes…who are you?”

“A fan,” he said, “of the Avengers. A few days ago, you got a present, didn’t you?”

Olivia shifted her feet. 

“It was music. You like music, right?” He lifted a cell phone and pressed a button. The music from the flashdrive started to play.

Olivia nodded slowly. “Am I being punked right now?”

He smiled. It made his face look skull-like in the red lights. “Knowledge?” He said quietly.

“What?”

“Cracked.”

Olivia peered at him. “What is going on—“

“Thirty-five.”

Something rippled through her head. “Ow—shit—what the fuck—“

“Nightfall.”

Her head lanced like a bolt of electricity. She cried out, hands going to her head. 

“Cage.”

Her vision went white, the gun fell to the floor. Bolts jumped from metal beam to metal beam as the board tipped back—

“Seven.”

She shrieked. Her skull felt like it was going to burst, eyes were burning, and everything was burning. She could smell the stench of burnt hair and flesh and eyes and _blood_ \--

“Garden Window.”

 

 

 

Suddenly, everything was silent. 

She stood in the motel at the window that faced the garden. There were no blackberries in the northern corner. 

Right. Victor’s parents were buried there. 

“What did you see?” someone asked.

Olivia turned away from the window. She was covered in blood. “Nothing.”

“What happened to them?” A man in a suit was talking to her. She couldn’t quite see his face.

“They died in New York City.”

“And when their son comes home. What do you tell him?”

“They died in New York City.”

“Because what did you just see?”

“Nothing.”

He nodded to her. “Go wash the knives. Clean up. Have a shower. Burn your clothes. And then go tend to the garden. We’ve brought you some blackberries to plant in the northern corner. They’ll grow well there, don’t you think?”

“Yes, they will.”

 

 

Rumlow started to laugh, watching the woman’s eyes go black and still. “What are the odds? Huh? What are the odds that the Avengers would pick up a Hydra sleeper that didn’t know she was one. If only Bucky had had the _rest_ of the dossier on Indiana.”

Olivia looked up from the ground, staring at him. 

“What do you see?”

She struggled for a moment and then said, “Nothing.”

“So you really were the seventh best of the Sleepers?” he asked. 

The other door to the hangar bay slammed open. 

Rumlow grinned. “Harkness. Fancy meeting _you_ here.”

“Miss Major. Step away from him.”

“Oh, you might have to try a little harder, Harkness. She’s remembering her roots right now. She is a good gardener—a better mechanic though.”

“I’m sorry, did we have someone imprisoned that you want to rescue? That doesn’t really seem your style, given everything I know about you, anyway.”

“Funny you should ask. Hey, Major.”

Olivia looked up and to the side of his face. Just like fucking _Bucky_ did. It was infuriating. “I guess Hydra will have to count you as a technical success—though I’d give them some notes. But maybe later. Distract the bitch. I’ve got something I have to do.”

Olivia swayed. “I…I can’t…I….”

He planted a stun gun into her ribs and lit her up. He watched her eyes blank out again. “What did you see through the window, Major?”

She was trembling. “Nothing,” she managed.

“Distract the bitch. I don’t care if she kills you. This is a happy coincidence for me—Doctor Bontrager told me that you’d come across Sergeant Barnes. I’m looking for someone else. Now, be fast. She has magic.” 

She raised the gun at Harkness and fired.

Rumlow dug out a small metal ball. “You know, I was saving this in case I ran into Bucky—but I have more.” He threw it down. It planted itself into the floor and then burst. Searing flame and white-hot light blasted through the hangar bay. 

Rumlow took off, chuckling as he went through the door. He went right for the stairs, sprinting up fifteen flights to floor 21—laboratory floor. 

At the same moment, the elevator opened next to the stairs. 

Rumlow felt hands grab into his armor and everything was a blur as he was whirled around and body slammed into the wall. 

“Well, well, if it isn’t Hydra’s loyal attack dog,” said Pietro Maximoff's smirking face. “If you’re looking for Barnes, he’s not here. The Avengers had other obligations today.”

Rumlow half-smiled. “Oh, the little Russian shits. You lived, huh? And here we were hoping to nail down at least _one_ problem. But that’s all right. Maybe I can do that while I’m here. And the Avengers—oh yeah, that little cunt, Agent Carter’s dead, isn’t she?”

Pietro’s eyebrows raised and he glanced behind him and then looked back. “I didn’t really know her,” Pietro admitted and shrugged, “but you did say _cunt_ in front of my sister. And that is rude.”

“I could say something else? How about: Trapped. Fracture. Service. Twenty-Seven. _Stark_.” He smiled, seeing Pietro’s eyes empty out and his grip loosened on his body armor. Rumlow relaxed against the wall. Good. If he had control of the kid, then taking care of Scarlet Witch shouldn’t be a problem—

And then the bastard _grinned_. “Just kidding,” Pietro said and he slammed his fist into Rumlow’s face.

The trigger words had been _removed_. How the fucking—

Rumlow pushed it aside, there would be time to consider that later. And maybe time to skin Doctor Bontrager later. He grabbed the second bomb and threw it. It hit one of the support pillars in the lab and burrowed down inside of it. 

Pietro followed it with his eyes and Rumlow wound back and hit the kid in the chest. The kid, distracted, didn’t dodge and Rumlow saw the moment his heart skipped several beats from the way his eyes widened. 

And then red vapor was everywhere. Like a screen holding back blood spray, Rumlow struggled, finding himself paralyzed. 

“Who are you here for?” Wanda asked. There was a balloon of light over her shoulder. No wait. Not light.

The explosion.

Rumlow stared it. It was the bomb, frozen mid-burst? He looked back at the girl. “Smith. Give him to me and I go.”

Wanda snorted and smiled. It was so sincere that he got a strange creeping feeling in his head. “No. Not today, Rumlow. What’s your real name, Rumlow? That’s the one Hydra gave you. What’s _your_ name?”

“Rumlow. That’s who I am. That’s who I will be. And that’s who I’ll die as. For Hydra.”

“If you like, all those things can happen today. But first, you have to tell me your name.”

Rumlow felt a strange twitch go through his skull. “Get outta my head.”

“You know, you hurt my friend. Had you helped him instead of becoming consumed by jealousy, you could be here.”

“Hydra takes _strength_.”

“Does it?” Wanda asked, advancing on him. Her voice darkened. “Does it take strength to mindlessly follow orders? Does it take strength to torment those who cannot _fight back_.”

Rumlow snorted. “Wait. Is this about _Bucky_? What the hell do you care about Barnes?”

“You tormented him. You took his blood. You are a coward.” She spit on him.

“Well, aren’t you fucking lippy now? But look, kid—I knew I wouldn’t get to Pines if the Avengers were here. I’ll be back for Cap and Barnes later—“

“You will _never_ threaten them again.” Wanda felt something unhinge in her head. Like opening a box. Her mind expanded, flooding over them, over him, focusing in on Rumlow.

She could see every feature of his body, every turn on his mind. The deep-dark recesses where he hid childhood ( _Mason, hide here!_ ). She tore the layers back and unleashed them, flooding him with memory.

Rumlow shuddered against the wall. He sunk to his knees, Wanda staring down at him. The red vapor whirled around them, sharpening like tentacles, like stabbing fingers into his eyes and mouth. “Now, what is _your_ name?”

“Mason,” Rumlow answered, eyes unfocused and blank. 

“How old are you, Mason?”

“I’m five.”

“How did you find out about Hydra?”

“In a year, I’ll be picked up by one of their agents. Orphanages are the easiest source of subjects for Hydra. People bitch like they give a shit what happens to kids—but when they have to actually support them, they disappear.”

“Hydra supported you?”

“Yes. I was taken and given an aptitude test. Then I was raised within.”

“Within Hydra?” 

“Yes. Different from ones like Major. Major was trained, wiped and then passed off to a Hydra family—there were a lot of experiments that Hydra did on those who weren’t as lucky as you two.”

“What?” Wanda stared at him.

“Nathan Major and Michelle Major were part of Hydra. They were to raise Olivia as their own. When the time came, provided nothing happened, they would then hand their children over to Hydra. They refused and went into hiding.”

“And then?”

Something in Rumlow twitched and he smiled. It was grotesque, blood bubbling up between his teeth as he said, “Well, as you know, orphans _are_ the easiest way to get recruits for Hydra. At _all_ levels.”

Wanda felt the blood rush passed her ears. She advanced on Rumlow, gripping into his skin, pulling _up_ and _off_. Flesh peeled off his face, tearing his lip. He jerked with the pain and closed his eyes. The red fingers grabbed in again, blood pouring down Rumlow’s face as she _ripped_ the flesh away—

“Wanda!” 

She looked over her shoulder. Outside her barrier, Harkness was standing. “Wanda! You have to stop! You can’t hold time back like this for very long!”

Wanda seemed to come back to herself and she released it. The explosion exploded but Harkness shielded them.

And then Tony Stark came through the hole in the ceiling. His mask folded back. “Shit! This is _not_ how you act when the boss is gone, guys!” 

He jolted to a stop when he saw Wanda’s face and then saw Rumlow’s. “Oh wow. Oof. Bad day. Okay. Uh, Wanda?”

“Yes, Mister Stark.”

“Are you, uh…you? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I am.” 

Tony kept half an eye on her as he moved in towards Rumlow. “Wow, I wouldn’t wanna be you right now, pal. How the tables have turned! You know, if you’re gonna crash a _base_ , you should probably bring more than one person. I mean, even _we_ did that.”

“It’s all right. Hydra has learned a lot today.”

Tony smiled. “Well, tell Hydra to eat a dick. Providing, of course, that you still have a jaw when Cap and Barnes get through with you.”

Pietro chuckled.

“Not like _that!_ ” Tony scoffed, exasperated.

Rumlow pulled out his last metal ball. He flicked the timer and then clenched it in his fist.

“What is—“

Wanda raised her hands—

Pietro was on his feet mid-sprint, no doubt intending to grab Rumlow and run with him. To get him away from the others at possible cost to his own life—

Agatha _pulsed_ through the room, stopping the world around them. Just this building. Wanda had somehow stopped _everything_ , which was incredibly dangerous and also extremely impressive. Agatha took the bomb from Rumlow’s hand. She willed herself up to the next landing, where a hole was blown in the ceiling. She threw it hard. It shot through the evening air like a comet.

When Agatha let go of time, it _whooshed_ back into place. The bomb exploded, Wanda paused her hands, Pietro staggered to a stop and Tony froze, looking around. 

“Was it a dud?” Tony asked.

Rumlow stared down at his empty hand. He glared at Agatha. Until her cane slammed into his forehead. Without missing a beat, as Rumlow crumpled, Agatha turned to Wanda. “Wanda—I don’t know how you did that. I can only advise against doing a lot. Manipulating time is very tricky and you stopped _everything_. Time is like water. If you stop it up—eventually it will burst. Very dangerous and should only be used in life or death circumstances.”

“This was,” Wanda said, glaring at her.

“I know—I did it too. But I don’t know what kinds of things you’ve been taught about the nature of your magic. I don’t think you realize how powerful you are. And that’s dangerous, it means you lack control. So, we’ll start our lessons, I think.”

Tony glanced at Pietro. “They stopped time?”

Pietro shrugged. And then kicked Rumlow over. 

“Wait—what about Olivia? She—“

“She went mad because Rumlow threw some code words at her. I have her contained in the security station down there. She punched through the window when I tried to lock her in.”

Wanda stared at her. “What?”

Agatha chuckled a little. “You felt her dreams but you thought they belonged to Barnes, I assume?”

“I…I didn’t think she…I mean….” Wanda looked at her hands. 

“Wait. What?” Tony said. “Whoa—what exactly is going on?”

“Your motel-owner was a Hydra Sleeper experiment. They really are everywhere, like an invasive species. She didn’t know, of course. Not until she heard the music and he said the words.”

The door burst open and Natasha entered with her gun out. “Oh hey,” she said, “is this where the party is?”

“It was a short one,” Tony said, pointing back at the unconscious Rumlow.

“Oh, motherfucker,” Natasha sneered, walking up to him. “ _This_ son of a bitch. Let’s get him secured before he wakes up.”

“And Major’s brother,” Wanda decided.

“What?” Natasha started and then Clint’s voice keyed in to both her and Tony.

“ _So, not to be weird or anything but Olivia—down here in the hangar. She. Appears. To have….uh, gone crazy?”_

“Don’t let her out!” Agatha commanded.

_”Shit, I think she’d bite me if I touched the door. What the fuck happened?”_

“Got a present for Steve and James—meet us in the holding cells,” Natasha answered. Tony and Pietro carried Rumlow between them as they headed down into the sublevels, where there was a large, tiled room. It was a sort of lobby area. A door opened to a stairwell and Clint, Bucky and Steve entered.

Bucky stiffened, stopping cold as Tony drug Rumlow in. 

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Why would _he_ come here alone?”

Wanda crossed her arms. “He said he was here for Smith—Rick Pines—and he knew he wouldn’t get to him if the Avengers were here. So I guess he bided his time until today.”

“Well, he fucked up that one, didn’t he? I mean, the Avengers _were_ here,” Clint said, shrugging and going to the steel gates.

Pietro and Wanda blinked, watching Clint. 

“Are we going to interrogate him?” Bucky asked, blue eyes turning a strange electric fire, somehow too interested in that idea. Something in his neck seemed to creak. 

Wanda and Steve both looked at him. 

“We’ll save it until he wakes up. Clint, Tony—be good boys and get him stripped out of all that shit,” Natasha said, waving a hand at the man. “I wanna know why the fuck he thought coming in here by himself was a good idea for one runt scientist who went rogue. Pines doesn’t know shit. He’s low on the totem pole. He isn’t worth the risk.”

Tony chuckled. “Well now, wait, Natasha. We crashed their party for one person. He crashed our party for one person—I mean, yeah, he was gonna kill the kid but you know—“

“Are you suggesting that we’re similar to him,” Natasha said, hooding her eyebrows.

Tony shrugged. “Are we really that different at the end of the day?”

“You better be. I didn’t switch sides for nothing,” Natasha snorted.

“Touche.”

The door opened again and Bruce entered quietly. He looked down at Rumlow. 

“Oh, perfect, it’ll give Bruce a chance for some revenge if he wakes up and starts acting stupid,” Tony said. “C’mon, Bam-Bam.”

They lugged Rumlow into a sterile room. Clint, Tony and Bruce set about undressing him. The others watched through some glass in an observation room.

Bucky was gritting his teeth harder and harder. Wanda touched his hand.

To distract them, Agatha told them what she’d seen. 

While she did, Clint peeled off the man’s last shirt. “Shit,” he said softly.

Rumlow was a mass of scar tissue. His entire left side was seared. It had turned white with age. Even under that, he could see molted lines of scar tissue, raised from burns and knife wounds. 

They quickly redressed him in scrubs and took all his gear out of the cell to be cleaned and examined. 

By then, four of their guards we walking Rick Pines and Victor Major down the hallway. 

“What is going on!” Victor demanded. “Where’s my sister? Why am I down here? I didn’t do anything.”

“Put them in separate holding cells for now,” Natasha told the guards. “Nothing personal,” she told the two of them. 

“Suspicious shit happens, we’re the most recent additions here. It makes sense,” Rick said.

“Wanda, how would you like to learn about interrogation?” Natasha said brightly.

Wanda’s eyes darkened. “I know this already, Black Widow.”


	20. Dreamspace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re messing around in her head, damage is already done—and Hydra was here before us anyway. As per usual, they left a goddamn mess. If you’re here, you may as well manipulate her mind. And if you’re going to do that—you might as well do it right. To cause the least amount of damage. Hydra taught you to steamroll into a mind. You don’t need to do that. You slip it like a shadow and they never know you’re there.”
> 
> \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bucky approached the security hut. Wanda lifted a hand, enveloping something invisible to the eye with red vapor. “Those are bands—Harkness must have used them to seal the door.” 

“Only from the inside,” Harkness said, crossing her arms and watching. “Shall I remove them?”

Bucky put his palm on Wanda’s shoulder. “Go stand by Steve.”

The Winter Soldier and Captain America exchanged a glance and Steve nodded. He beckoned Wanda. She looked at Bucky, looked at Olivia, and went to Steve.

Clint and Natasha were facing the door diagonally, weapons at ready. Pietro sauntered up behind Bucky, standing in line with him on the off-chance that the Sleeper tried to run instead of fight. 

Bucky clenched his metal fist, approaching the window. It was shattered and smeared with blood. The inside of the security hut was like a tornado had gone through. The monitors were smashed, there was blood everywhere and he could just barely see Olivia.

She was crouched in the back corner, watching him. He knew a good deal about the Hydra sleepers—sure, some of them were simply plainclothes spies but some of them were like Olivia Major. It was a whole separate program from what Bucky and the Red Room were a part of. So while she was likely to come out swinging—she wasn’t soaped up on magical-science steroids. Hydra did a lot of experiments. He wasn’t the only thing they’d had been working on for the last sixty-some years, after all.

But she would have been trained and then wiped a long time ago. The paralysis of the mind would not be as difficult as his own. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t be dangerous, of course. She _had_ taken to their training very well. And without inhibitions or limits, she could have caused some serious damage. He’d have to get Wanda to ask about this Doctor Bontrager—and how this guy knew about her. 

Bucky touched the shattered glass. “Hey, Major.”

She was breathing, shallow and quick. Her head twitched. She stood up, staring at him. Her muddy-ocean eyes were dark and intent. She picked up a hammer. 

“Major, you need to listen to me. I’m not your enemy. None of us are.”

She snorted like a bull, her long hair was sticking to her face from sweat. “Everyone says the same goddamn thing.”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder. “Break the seal so I can open the door.”

Harkness waved a hand and the bands disappeared. 

Major was at the window in a heartbeat. The hammer was swinging through the glass. Bucky dodged back and Major braced herself and smashed the door open with her heel. She slid out, flipping up to kick Bucky in the face.

He grabbed her with his metal hand, wrapping around her calf and then jerked her into him. It was strange to see this from the outside. How her eyes searched his own frantically. He should definitely kill her, just to be safe—

But then Steve appeared. He grabbed Major’s arms, hooking them behind her and locking her in place. Bucky released her and she sagged immediately, struggling against Steve’s monstrous strength. He took her to her knees, kneeling behind her as he trapped her in place. 

Wanda came forward quickly. Harkness followed but made no move to act, simply observing Wanda as she knelt in front of the woman. The witch’s hands went up and the red vapor flooded over the Sleeper. Olivia froze, staring at Wanda. And then her eyes unfocused and went blank. Steve kept holding her in place, curled around her like a bear. 

“Olivia,” Wanda said quietly.

The woman curled in on herself, shaking on her knees with Steve braced around her. She shuddered, took a wheezing breath and managed, “What is _happening_ to me?”

“Olivia, I need you to follow on my voice.” Wanda raised her hands, gently combing her fingers into her brown hair. The vapor misted like fingers, slipping into her mind and Wanda saw through _her_ eyes, a flood where there had once been nothing. It was confused and chaotic—nothing as desolate as Bucky’s—but flickering images, uncertainty, memories of being tipped back on a board with her face submerged in water and then they turned on the _cage_. And everything _burned_. They burned everything out. They pried in with fear and burned everything out. 

Wanda felt something shake through the woman. Felt her _feel_ Steve’s body trapping hers, a flash of carnal _desire_ , raw _heat_ in her head and then immediate guilt, crushing shame and then—

 

 

“Good morning, Mister and Missus Major, I presume?” A kindly-looking man in a dapper suit and a briefcase.

Nick Major smiled, friendly. “That’s us. What can we do for you, sir?”

“I’m passing through—I’m from big cities—so I’ve never seen a motel like this before. Is this a house attached?”

“Yes, it is,” Michelle said and stood up. 

“So you two live here?” The man asked, looking genuinely interested. 

“Yeah, us—and the kids,” Nick nodded. “Take it nobody really does that in Chicago?”

“Not generally—not like this, anyway.” He perked. “So you have kids here too? Do they help you run the place?”

“Small chores but we don’t want them to feel like employees,” Michelle chuckled.

“They resent you if you do,” Nick said, rubbing the scruff of his beard. “And ours are a little young for that.”

“Aw—do they like chocolate? I got some Ghirardelli in Chicago.” The man attempted to shuffle his briefcase and suitcase and coat and somehow managed to dig out a large bag of wrapped chocolates.

“Are you planning to stay the night then?” Michelle said, raising her eyebrows firmly.

“Oh yes, of course—it’s just me. So one bed.” 

“All right,” Michelle said cheerfully. She opened the door into the house. “Kids, wanna try some fancy chocolate?”

The man beamed, dumping his coat on the floor on his suitcases and putting the bag on the counter. Two children came through the door. The girl had wild-looking curly hair, barely contained in a rubber band. She didn’t quite look at anyone. 

The boy was small, lean like his mother. He looked around and waved at him. “Can we?”

“Of course!” said the dapper man, dumping the fancy chocolate onto the counter. 

“Victor, what do we say?”

Victor paused, fingers wrapped around a chocolate. “I….oh….um. Thank you.”

“No worries at all, Victor. I would be excited too.”

He smiled at the girl. “Who’s this one?”

“Olivia,” said Michelle. “She’s sort of shy. She’s eleven, Victor is eight.”

“You’re getting old!” the cheerful man told her, smiling. “What do you wanna do when you grow up?”

“I want to be like Tony Stark and make lots of money!” Victor declared, peering over the assorted chocolates until he saw a wrapper he liked.

“Nothing wrong with that at all. It’s good to have goals, kiddo.” He looked back at the girl. “And how about you, Olivia?”

She seemed hesitant to approach, staying closer to the wall behind the counter. “I…don’t know.”

“Well, what do you like?”

“Um….music and singing,” she said, brightening a little. She met his eyes a little shyly.

“So you like music from before?” he said and smiled.

_Music from before. There was music before. Scratching in ears. This is a song and the song is Cage._

Olivia looked down at the floor. “Sometimes,” she said.

The man looked at her parents. “She’s a sweet thing. So shy. Sorry if I embarrassed her?”

“It’s all right,” Michelle said. “Liv, why don’t you take a chocolate and make some tea?”

Olivia nodded silently and took the escape, almost silently choking out a thank you before hurrying back in to the house.

Victor kicked his feet against the bar stool. “Or being a police officer would be cool too. I want to go on high-speed chases. It’ll be all,” and here, Victor attempted to sound like he was speaking into a microphone, “Thompson, _raaaaasp_ , you’ve got something on your six—“ 

 

 

\--hours was how long it took for the family to settle down and go to sleep. Olivia tossed and turned. And then got up. She had to do something—didn’t she? She’d forgotten something. Sometimes, she heard music when she had nothing playing music. She didn’t know how to describe it. But sometimes it just happened. She supposed like some people heard ringing in their ears. 

It seemed like a good idea to put on her shoes, not the light-up ones. She was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. She pulled a flannel shirt on over it—

_Where am I going?_

\--and then headed outside. Some chore she’d forgotten. Better get it done now. Had to—no. She should speak to that man first. She had to.

_Why?_

She went to his assigned room and knocked. 

The cheerful man smiled when he saw her. “Olivia. Can I help you?”

“Sometimes I hear music from before—but not. I don’t—sometimes I hear music when there isn’t any.”

“So you hear nothing?” And then he stepped back to let her in. “You see nothing?”

“I see nothing. But I hear music.”

“What are you?”

“Nothing.”

“Who are you?”

“No one.”

“What are you?”

“Nothing.”

He watched her eyes hollow out. He sat down on the bed. “Come here, Olivia.”

She did, standing in front of him. 

“Do you know who I am?”

Her murky eyes flickered up to him. She shook her head.

He watched her. Better make sure. “What are you going to see?”

“Nothing.”

“What will you remember?”

“Everything.”

He hooked his ankle over his knee. “I was sent here with a message.” He took out a sealed business envelope and handed it to the child.

He didn’t know what it said. He hadn’t read it. If he had, Hydra would have killed him before he’d arrived. He was here to deliver whatever the message was—but then also report back on how Olivia reacted to the first set of trigger words they’d burned into her.

Standing in front of him, she was nearly eye level with him sitting. She took a small note out of the envelope and opened it.

Her eyes flickered, went to him and then back down. She pushed the note into the pocket of her sweatpants. She looked in the package and pulled out something wrapped in bubble wrap and probably some Hydra shit that would make it pass through metal detectors and stuff.

Olivia watched his attention wander away. His role was over, he assumed. Easy job. It was. The note was short:

_Kill the man who gives you this package. Mail us his ID._

The knife was a switchblade. She reached over, grabbed him by the hair and cut his throat. 

Easy. Just like that. Muscle memory was incredible.

He managed a gurgling cry before his neck opened up in a gaping gash and red flooded out of him. She grabbed his body and drug him through his room to the bathtub. She let him drain, removed his valuables. She removed his identification tag from his shoe and pocketed that too.

And then she wiped her hands and went back into the lobby, slipped into the house and took the master key from the hook on the wall.

She ghosted back out and opened up the very last room. Lugging him there took work but draining him first helped and a sheet made sure no smears were left behind. She had to break his arms and legs to make him fit. She stuffed him into the bathroom cupboard under the sink and shut the doors. She turned away and locked up the room before heading back to the man’s. She took all his things and carried them inside. She hid them in the back of her closet. She cleaned up all the blood that she could. 

At the end of it, she was pale, blood-splattered and strangely calm. The itch in her mind quieted. She breathed deep in the mirror and then turned off the lights. She locked up his room, returned the keys, went to her bedroom and was asleep in minutes.

Her father just asked, “Olivia, did you see anything strange last night?”

“Strange?”

“Mister Hawthorne is gone—the nice man from yesterday—he vanished during the night. And…we just wondered if you heard anything? Saw anything strange?”

Olivia shook her head. “Nothing.”

The man didn’t come up again for two months, when Victor discovered him. He didn’t tell anyone—but she…knew. And within a week, the man was gone. 

Sad, a little. Sometimes she would go into the room and just look at his dead body. Sometimes, she woke up there. It was…strange. 

It was—

Wanda felt Olivia try to wrench away from her. The woman cried out, strangling it as her foot slid and Steve shifted to keep her still.

The numb bliss of neither living nor being dead. Looking at one, being the other, attempting to find the happy medium. And it was a numb quiet of the mind. Something to take away all thoughts, only worry about what’s happening _now_ , only _feel_ what you want to—

Feel it burn all the way up your spine like lightening—Wanda shuddered—knowing blood and heat, a hand on her throat, exerting control, dangerous but not hostile. Not too much—

Agatha suddenly flared, bright and silver next to her in Olivia’s head. “Wanda.”

Wanda shuddered again.

“You can control the dreamer—you can’t be drawn into what she feels.”

Wanda felt Agatha touched her shoulders, guiding her carefully with a wisp of silver-green. “This is not your mind. It’s not Bucky’s mind. Minds are like places. They _feel_ different. They _feel_ like the person they are. You assumed something about Olivia—about who she was. But it was wrong. And you missed a potentially dangerous Sleeper agent. We were lucky that the first person she ran into was me and not one of the regulars.”

“We should not discuss this _inside_ her head.”

Agatha raised her eyebrows. “Then stop being so distracted. I know you’re young and life isn’t fucking fair and Barnes is a fine specimen. Believe me, he is. I’ve seen a lot of men in my life. You’re distracted because you’re all weird and uncertain about Barnes. You _can’t_ quietly mess around in someone’s head if _your_ head has the garage door open and a stereo on of nothing but pigs squealing as they die.”

Wanda recoiled. “Ugh.”

“So, make a decision about Barnes. If it’s about sexual attraction, fuck him and get it over with so you can focus. I hear he used to be pretty good,” Agatha continued, smirking a little. And then she looked away, “And if it’s because you, you know….like him or love him or something—then, shit, take care of it. I dunno if you’re aware—but superheros don’t tend to live long, happy lives.” Agatha huffed. “So just. Make your choice one way or another. Take your happiness where you can.”

Wanda straightened her shoulders and stood up, peering at Agatha like she’d never quite seen her before. “Oh,” was all she could manage.

“Now,” Agatha said, tapping her cane against the floor, “stop playing around and take control of her feelings and memories.”

Whatever Agatha had done, the effect was gone and she felt all of Olivia’s confusion and anger and terror and helplessness but also strength, trapped, warm heat, hot grip, pinned down on the mat and wanting a knife—

Wanda shook it off and pulsed. The images stopped and washed away. Blank dreamspace was a bit different for every mind she’d ever visited. Some had fields of flowers, some were deserts, some were stone ruins, some just gliding through water because only the sky existed—it was a slate over the foundation for what all one’s dreams developed from. 

She hadn’t yet tried venturing into Bucky’s dreammind (the foundation, not the slate--she'd been there during his surgery)—because that was, well…it seemed rather...well. She just wasn’t sure he would be all right with it. It seemed almost…intimate. The idea of looking into _his_ dreamspace. It had only ever been a weapon for her. She hadn't considered how...it might...not be.

“So what are you?” Agatha said sharply, arms crossed. “Who are you when the dreams are washed away and all we see are the foundations.”

Wanda looked over, watching Agatha wash away the walls and barriers and faded dreams and bits of music. 

Wanda’s own dreamspace was rather like a library. Olivia Major’s was…almost like a museum exhibit. Objects held in limbo that must have had some meaning. Wanda looked around, skimming over the objects and turning away.

“Not going to parse out the objects?” Agatha asked her.

“They are not relevant to calming her and bringing her back to herself—“

“How do you know?” Agatha asked, looking interested.

“Well I—“ Wanda scowled. “I don’t sense anything from them.”

“Just because you can’t sense something doesn’t mean that nothing is there. It’s why dogs bark at ghosts, why animals flee before a storm, why humans can _feel_ like they’re being watched.”

“But I can’t just create something from nothing—I needed memories, not pieces—“

“What are you trying to do?” Agatha asked, looking a little amused.

“Stop this. The chaos,” Wanda said, lifting her hands to the nightmare locked around them. 

“Then _do_ it. You are the dreamer, Wanda. She is the slate. She can dream whatever you _want_.”

Wanda looked away. “That seems….I…I don’t wish to hurt her. I don’t want to control her.”

“You’re messing around in her head, damage is already done—and Hydra was here before us anyway. As per usual, they left a goddamn mess. If you’re here, you may as well manipulate her mind. And if you’re going to do that—you might as well do it right. To cause the least amount of damage. Hydra taught you to steamroll into a mind. You don’t need to do that. You can slip in like a shadow and they never know you’re there.”

Agatha stepped forward and lowered Wanda’s palms. The witch netted her fingers together and took a deep breath. Wanda felt her own power wash away, everything around them fell away like dust. The space was empty and white at first and then slowly the museum appeared again. 

Rows of objects all connected to memory. Some of them were black and fuzzy—things she couldn’t recall anymore (or, perhaps, yet). Agatha found the knife, sticky with blood, bruising her thumbs—

And watched Olivia plant it into Nicholas Major’s throat.

“Liv—“

And then planted it again, in his gut. She shredded him open, gutting him like a deer. She stabbed him in the eyes to make sure that—even if he got up again, he’d still have a hard time finding her. He _was_ part of Hydra, after all. One never knew what they taught people.

She waited for Michelle to come into the lobby. The woman slowed at her expression. She had Victor’s fine dark hair. It was swept up in a pretty bun that hung loose. She was holding a barrel of apples in her arms. “Olivia—look at these—“

Olivia sprang at her, Michelle threw the basket of apples at her feet. She jumped over it, dodged her mother’s strike and ducked down. Michelle grabbed a broom lying against the wall. She struck once, twice—Olivia felt her nose break and everything smelled and tasted like blood—and then when she opened her eyes:

Michelle’s head was caved in with the leg of a dining room chair. Her face was a gory ruin. Olivia had her fingers grinding into the wet guts of her throat. 

Then people came.

And someone asked her: “What did you see?”

And she responded: “Nothing.”

 

 

Olivia went limp in Steve’s grip. He caught her head before it hit the floor and looked up, watching Wanda’s eyes open. 

“It’s all right,” Wanda said softly and nodded. She took a deep breath. “The triggers are gone.”

Steve looked down at her and stood. Her eyes were open but she wasn’t seeing anything. “I’ll take her to her room.”

“A cell would be safer,” Agatha said.

Steve hesitated. 

“Just in case,” Bucky agreed.

He couldn’t argue with that, so Steve carried her to a bare room. It had a desk and a real bed. He put her down. Her nose was bloody and her eyes were wet and unfocused. She was totally silent. 

He followed Wanda and Bucky out the door. Jarvis keyed in from the ceiling, “Captain Rogers, Rumlow has awakened.”

Steve closed his eyes for a moment. Too much. Too much. A lot had happened today, even for him. He took a deep breath. “Thank you, Jarvis. Let's let him stew for the night.”

“Seriously,” Bucky agreed.

“Jarvis, can you take voice recording for playback?”

“Yes, Ms Maximoff, I can.”

“Okay, I’m going to do that in my room—so I can record what I saw in them tonight.” She looked at Bucky. “Perhaps….later we could discuss it.”

Steve snorted.

Bucky sighed and shot Steve a dirty look. 

Wanda huffed and grabbed Bucky by the shoulders. She kissed him, hard enough that he felt his back hit the wall in surprise. He automatically put his right hand on her hip and she moved right into him before leaning back to break away. Bucky stayed slumped against the wall.

Steve stared at her, stunned.

“There,” she told him, as the elevator opened to her floor. “Now, be _properly_ jealous.” And she turned on her heel and sauntered out.

The doors closed about halfway before Bucky burst out laughing. 

“Wow,” Steve said to the floor of the elevator, red as a tomato--caught somewhere between shock and laughter. “I…I don’t….”

Bucky leaned against the elevator wall again, chuckling. “That was _awesome_. I like her.”

Steve faced him. “You like her a lot?”

Bucky glanced down. “I guess so. Yeah.”

“Good,” Steve said, smile somehow sad again. He clapped Bucky on the shoulder as the elevator opened again. 

They stepped out into the hall together, both of them hesitated before separating. Bucky looked back first—and half a second later, Steve did too. Their eyes met and they chuckled. 

“It’s been a day,” Steve said, glancing down.

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed quietly. And then, “Steve—“

“I loved who she was. But, I think maybe now I can…let her go. Just like she had to do for me.”

Bucky nodded. 

“It was…the worst…every time she would forget. And how many times I….sat by her bed and she would suddenly start crying again….” Steve looked away, swallowing to steady his voice. “I felt…horrible. That I was making her cry. I just….” 

“You loved her but she was a different person than the one you left behind,” Bucky said and shrugged, something of his saunter in it for just a moment. “When they showed you this bedridden old woman and told you it was Peggy Carter—you had a split-second where you thought, ‘ _No. Not this old stranger. This isn’t Peggy._ ’ But it was true. You never saw _your_ Peg again.”

Steve looked at him for a long moment. “Yeah….you’re right. Like…the last time you saw the Steve that Bucky Barnes knew…was the night before you left. And I didn’t see you again until Zola….”

“We’re different evolutions of ourselves. The only difference is that Peggy aged. And we weren’t there. I’m not really Bucky Barnes anymore but I’m not the Soldier either. And you’re not really a kid from Brooklyn anymore—ha, maybe—but you’re not only Captain America either.” Bucky looked at his metal hand. “Let’s have a smoke and you can play some of the music you’ve been wanting to show me.”

Steve smiled a bit, and nodded.


	21. Shellshock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Bucky/Wanda  
> \----  
> Song is: Hypnotize by Fleetwood Mac
> 
> I like having music on when I write--especially when I need to feel a certain way about the words. I listened to Black Heart by Brunuhville: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R5_gkn3iLP0  
> \------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> She leaned over when he settled in beside her like a ripple of air. “Did you just try to make a friend?” she whispered.
> 
> Pietro looked at her, seeming troubled. “I think so. I’m not sure why.”  
> \--------------------------------------------------------------

“Seems like a dream,” she sang softly, “got me hypnotized….”

She was sitting at the end of the bed on the floor. She had her feet curled up to her, hugging her knees and just staring at the wall. And then she would lose track of time and wake up in the bed again. She shuddered under icy cold sweats, trying to regain some feeling other than muted silence. She heard her breathing. She remembered crying a time or two. 

“You see the sides were like glass, in the thick of a forest, without a road….” And then _snap_ \--

Like someone had flipped a switch, Olivia sat up in bed. She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes to try and steady her breathing.

_Where am I?_

She touched around under her until she found a wall. “Jarvis?” She tried.

“Yes, Miss Major.”

She shuddered with a breath of relief. At least Jarvis was there. “I—where am I?”

The lights in her room went up a bit at a time like a dimmer switch, to let her eyes adjust. “This is a suspect-security cell, Miss Major. It was felt that it would be safer to keep you here for now.”

“What about Victor—he didn’t have anything to do with _that_ , he couldn’t have. He isn’t a bad person—we don’t get along but—I understand why he didn’t like me. I—I don’t….”

“Victor Major was contained fifteen hours ago in a similar cell to yours.”

“Did they _hurt_ him?!”

“No. no, Miss Major. No. He is merely being detained until we can confirm your stories about what happened.”

“He wasn’t part of it,” she pleaded. “He really wasn’t. It was just me. Just me. I…I…did.” She put her hand over her mouth to strangle the sob that wrenched out of her. 

_”Bucky—do you think I could be like you—I mean, I dunno—do something where I could have the stamina and healing like you and Captain Rogers?”_

She laughed, choking on a sob as she laughed into her knees. “It was me.”

 

 

Victor watched the video silently. He was staring, open-mouthed in disbelief, as Rumlow appeared in the hangar and Olivia confronted him like an idiot and _what the hell_ \--

As she attacked Harkness—a full dead run, gun blazing, because Agatha had turned to chase Rumlow instead—and Olivia slammed into her. Harkness raised her hands and blasted Olivia away. She hit one of the security hut’s windows, dragging her arm out of it. And how she fought like a goddamn wild animal when Harkness shut her inside. And she _punched_ through the glass of the door—how the hell did she do that? She _couldn’t_ do that. Yet, she did. And then she staggered back from the doors, collapsing over the chair and falling to the floor. 

He listened to her murmur, confused and distressed and stumbling up, trying to wrench the glass apart. Shit, no wonder she was wrapped like a mummy from the elbows down. The live feed into her cell was playing on another monitor. 

She was sitting on her bed, rocking back and forth as her sobs quieted. “Did I hurt anyone?” She choked out.

Jarvis responded, “No, ma’am. Ms Harkness was there to contain you.”

Olivia managed a watery laugh, getting up to go to the bare writing desk and pull off a sheet of paper towel to blow her nose. “I wasn’t even a very good Sleeper, was I?” She shuddered back another sob. “Can you tell me what…they….what they think I am? I mean—I remember things but…” 

She rubbed her hands down her face. “….I _let_ Rumlow in. I should have shot him. Why did I believe him when he said he was Bucky? Why would I do that? That’s so stupid.”

“Given my limited knowledge of you, Miss Major, but having observed you for the last month or so—you appear to second-guess your instincts. Your self-doubt and awareness that something is off but unable to identify what it was—led you to desperately want the confidence of Sergeant Barnes. You wanted him to respect you and for him to believe you were a good person—whatever that meant. Because a small part of you has always been aware you were a Hydra Sleeper, like an itch in your throat. And you became unconsciously uncertain that your first thoughts about a situation were somehow not your own.”

Olivia stared at the ceiling for a long moment. “Wow,” she said softly, leaning her temple against the wall. “I’m sorry, Jarvis, for when I said you were just a robot voice….” She looked down at her knees. “And…I’m sorry for what I said about Mister Stark.”

“Thank you,” Jarvis said softly. 

She swallowed hard. “So….what happens now?”

“I imagine they will come for you soon, after they meet with Agent Rumlow.”

She curled up tighter, imagining wary distrust in Steve’s face, and complete indifference from Bucky. She let it shake out of her, taking a few deep breathes against her knees. “So either they’ll kill me or I’ll be confined to this place?”

“It does seem likely, Miss Major.”

Olivia swallowed hard and nodded. “All right. Okay. Thank you for telling me, Jarvis.”

 

 

Victor looked at the other panel, where Olivia was also shaking in some sort of rage, trying to tear open the door. Her hands and arms were covered in blood. She slopped it everywhere, left handprints behind on the security hut windows. 

“How did you get this video—wasn’t Jarvis offline?” Victor asked, voice emotionless, looking dazed.

“The three bots that helped her all have recording devices,” Tony said and shrugged. “She shut them into the gear-drop like they would get hurt…so they recorded everything that happened through the windows.”

“They were….what, worried about her?” Rick Pines asked, crossing his arms as he studied the screens.

“She did work with them every day. And she gave them names.” Tony shrugged again. “So, here’s the deal. This chick is a Hydra Sleeper.” Tony fast-forwarded the video to Bucky standing in front of the doors and let it play. “Now, Harkness says she didn’t know and it sounds like you didn’t either.”

“What does that mean? A Hydra Sleeper? What is that? Something that makes her act crazy?” Victor said, a little more tersely, watching Steve take Olivia to the ground and Wanda kneel in front of her. 

“Larger program but not as focused as the Winter Soldier or Red Room,” said Rick. “It was about quantity, not necessarily quality.” He shifted. “I mean—not that she wasn’t great, I’m sure—but Hydra would have broken her as a child, put the triggers in her and then basically turned her over to grow up relatively normal. Then they meet someone ‘randomly’ who has their file and they test the kids—basically to see how long it takes for the controls to degrade, start to break down. The human mind is very resilient. If you didn’t have a person’s complete cooperation from the very beginning, you likely never will.”

“That being said,” Harkness spoke up, green eyes like bottle glass and shining silvery hair hanging down her back in wavy curls. There was a leather throng and beads wound through it. “If you have complete devotion, that subject might begin to think he knows Hydra better than Hydra does, hence—Rumlow.”

“A lot of people stay in their molds, believe they have no place without them. And some can’t stand their molds.” Rick gestured to the screen and glanced at Bucky across the table.

“Is that why you can’t look me in the eye, kid?” Bucky asked quietly, voice gruff.

Rick looked at Bucky and then looked down at the table. “I know who you are,” the young man murmured to the polished oak. “I want no part of it.”

“You’re a little late for that.”

“I know,” Rick agreed. He chanced another wary glance at Bucky. “I just….I believe that you’re in control, Sergeant Barnes. But…when Rumlow brought me to Argentina, I was….I got access to a lot of stuff I’d never seen before. Because, again, we were all that Rumlow could find. There is a _lot_ about you.” He looked away. “Again, I do believe that you’re in control, Sergeant Barnes. I’m not arguing that with you or anyone else here. They know you better than I ever will. But Hydra did a _lot_ of things to you. And they made you do a lot of things to other people.” He glanced at Wanda and Pietro. “And…no one is ever the same after they do those things.” He looked at Steve Rogers’ still face and then at Bucky again. “Again, no disrespect to anyone at the table, I just…I’ll stay away from you and….you stay away from me…please.”

“It’s all right, Rick,” Bruce spoke up, eyes warm and firm. “We understand. And I’m sure they would appreciate the respect that you obviously have for them, which also brings out an appropriate wariness. It’s the same way they all feel about me. They know who I am—but they know I’m the Other Guy too. It’s good. It shows common sense.”

“Tch, yeah right,” Tony snarked.

“Obviously, except for Tony,” Bruce amended, smiling a little and gesturing towards him.

Rick managed half of a wary smile, but his eyes looked a little hopeful. 

On the monitor, Olivia said, “You know, Jarvis, that was the first time I saw Bucky—was through the garden window. It faced north. He wasn’t far from it. All curled up like a deadly pill bug. I went out there in the mornings to take care of the blackberries. You could see them from the window. I guess now I know why I never really liked blackberries. They taste dead.” She drug her hands down her face. “Have they told Victor yet?” Her voice broke a little.

In the room, Victor looked down at the table, covering his eyes with his palm and leaning on his elbow. 

“Yes, Miss Major. He was told.”

Olivia went quiet on the feed.

Steve leaned forward. “Do you want to see her?” He asked Victor.

The young man shook his head silently. He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. “No. Not….not yet. I….I can’t.” 

“Take some time off from the lab, kid,” Tony said quietly. “We’ll keep a place for you.”

Victor got up and staggered out of the room. Pietro followed from a distance, sauntering after the guy to make sure he didn’t fall down the stairs on his way back to his room or whatever. He ghosted up next to him. “It will be all right, you know. There are good parts to this. We who are formally of Hydra are particularly loyal.”

Victor looked up at him. “What.”

Pietro shrugged. “What?”

“She _killed_ my mom and dad.”

“Well, this happens sometimes, yes,” Pietro allowed. “And I am hardly one to talk—given why I joined Hydra initially. But, they are in the past now—“

“I was away at college. I cannot fucking even _believe_ \--and then I realized. Holy shit. I never spoke to mom and dad on the phone about their upcoming trip to New York. Olivia was handling all the details. So she could set up a _fucking_ murder. She _gutted my dad like a fucking deer!_ ”

Pietro shifted a little. “Uh, well, yes. But…she…did not skin him. I think that is…a…uh, an improvement. Yes?”

Victor’s mouth fell open and he stared at Pietro like he’d grown a second head. “What the _fuck_ are you talking about? She _buried them in our back yard_.”

Pietro struggled with the question for a moment and frowned. “I am beginning to think my perspective is somewhat skewed.”

Victor blinked, just staring at him. “What?”

Pietro cleared his throat a little awkwardly. “I…am. Not sure what I thought I was trying to do here—I think I wanted to help, sort of? And I think I made it worse. What I meant was—you have gotten through things before. And now you do the same again. That’s all.”

Victor looked a little startled again, eyes sharpening in on Pietro, studying him. 

“I’m gonna go now. Sorry.” Pietro did what he was known for, blurring away from Victor and winding his way back to Wanda.

She leaned over when he settled in beside her like a ripple of air. “Did you just try to make a friend?” she whispered.

Pietro looked at her, seeming troubled. “I think so. I’m not sure why.”

Wanda broke into silent chuckles. “Did you like it?”

“No. I didn’t,” Pietro said, wrinkling his nose at her. 

The two of them giggled to each other.

“Hey, stop bein’ twins down there,” Tony grouched. “We gotta review Rumlow shit now too.”

“Actually…let’s take a break,” Steve said quietly. “I think we all need a short break before getting into Rumlow.”

“Oh, this is gonna be bad, isn’t it?” Sharon said softly. “I’m gonna order some pizzas.”

“I’ll get the beer,” Sam said, voice flat.

 

 

 

Wanda walked away from the conference room with Bucky. He touched her spine, urging her to walk down another hallway with him. “Are you doing all right with all this?”

Wanda nodded, feeling him fingering her waist. “It’s difficult, like everything is. But I’m all right. What about you?”

“Glad we get a break before Rumlow. I gotta pay you back.”

“What—for what?”

Bucky looked sidelong at her, narrowing his eyes as he pulled her into a door that should have been locked because it was a janitor’s room full of supplies and brooms and Bucky turned the lock and pressed her up against the wall to kiss her.

She responded immediately, melting into him and moving like a wave against him. He pinned her hip and slid his fingers under her skirt. She gasped when he touched her, spine arching against the concrete. She shuddered, sliding her exposed thigh up against his hip. He pressed in against her, massaging her clit, breathing in hard at her throat as she writhed against the wall.

“B-Bucky,” she managed, kissing hard at him, hands going to his belt.

He whipped her around, made her face the wall, hands roughly shoving her skirt all the way up to her waist and sliding a finger inside of her. She was volcanically hot around him, all the stress was eating at her. He felt her ripple around him when she came, bracing herself on the wall and choking back her voice. And then he was a line of heat up against her as he grabbed her hips again, the metal one clenching a little and he thrust inside of her.

He grunted against her ear, against the back of her neck. She shuddered around him. She reached behind her, grabbing into his hair and heard him growl as he palmed her breasts, holding them under her shirt as he thrust against her. He boxed her in against the wall, moving her roughly, taking control of her at the hip and tilting her—making her cry out, getting her out of her head, letting her feel something _now_. Something _real_ Maybe _that_ was what pulled them together, that suppression of carnality—as he pinned her up against the wall, fucking her up into it and her fist tightened in his hair and he was scrubbing his fingers over her clit as he rode her. Held her in place when she flailed and pounded against the wall, breathing in her ear and promising her with every growl. And when she came around his cock, he shuddered, smirking with satisfaction and biting her ear. And then he braced her up, held her thighs in his hands, moving her harder and faster against him, slamming them together. He bit the back of her neck, massaging at her again when he locked up around her. She came and he fucked her through it again, moving inside of her slick and hard. They both shuddered, leaning against the wall and sliding down in a heap together. 

 

 

 

Steve walked down into the cell level. It was lighter security here. The cells here had real beds, a desk to write on, a sink. He was buzzed in to the block and pressed his fingerprint to the reader beside the door. It unlocked and he stepped in. There was a small hallway and he knocked on the solid steel door.

He heard a small gasp, a shudder, a barely-there breath of distress, fear. Was always aware of it on everyone. Everyone around him. Perhaps that’s why they thought he was too-trusting. He read their faces, their body language, listening to their gasp or words or yells or denials and all he saw and heard from every person around him was pain. In all their faces, in all places. He saw pain. 

Steve could not remember what it had been like to _not_ be so utterly aware. It had happened after the serum. After he woke up, he’d marveled at Peggy—how a woman could have ever been so muted to him. How he utterly caught fire at the intelligence in her eyes, the passion in her voice, the fear that she conquered—

Bucky had been the strangest though. He could, at that time, remember how Bucky prowled and foxed when they’d been in New York together. He could now suddenly analyze that behavior as it played out in Howard Stark. Recognizing the two men as similar, somewhat self-destructive but ultimately good-hearted. Too intense to be handled with kid gloves, too bold for most to bother. 

After Italy, Bucky had completely changed. It was in his stance, his walk, the way his eyes moved. The way his jaw locked and how he sewed little wings into his uniform, staring at it like he couldn’t quite believe it was real. Looking at Steve again in wonder and also fear and also concern and also…something he couldn’t place. A pang of loss—Steve was the same, of course, inside. In fact he was….he was so _goddamn_ Steve it was almost….surreal. But the Steve he remembered was…gone. And now he had to reconcile that loss. And Bucky no longer prowled and foxed. He lurked, slipping into the shadows and out again. Something almost unsteady in him that Steve recognized immediately. Whatever had happened in Zola’s lab, whatever had happened during the war, Bucky Barnes was faded. Something new, harder, surfacing. That and whatever Zola had done to him. He had been a commanding sergeant. He fought with his guys in the trenches. But after their first skirmish together and watching Bucky….

Steve swallowed at the memory. Fighting up close with some bastard Nazi and he took the body to the ground. And then he tore it apart. Steve had watched in stunned silence as Bucky ripped the man’s arm from his shoulder with his bare hands. The man was still screaming. Bucky stared at the man, pulling the man’s face up so he could look into his eyes as he gutted him, pressing a thumb into the jelly of his right eye. 

The man died and Bucky shuddered, his whole body went cold, kneeling in the mud. His hands were wrapped in bandages and his thumb was inside the man’s eyesocket. He pulled it out—everything felt slow and strange.

“Bucky?” Steve had said, soft and wary, motioning the others back. 

“Sergeant Barnes, James,” Bucky choked out at the mutilated face of the man. “Serial number—“

“Bucky,” Steve repeated and he stepped into his friend, gently putting a hand over his eyes and pulling him away from the corpse. 

_It’s Steve. You can trust Steve._

Bucky let Steve direct him away, feeling numb and blinded and focused hard on listening so he could get his senses back. Steve leaned with him. He uncovered his friend’s eyes, letting him see the bark of some grandfather of a tree. 

“Bucky?”

Bucky shuddered. “Sorry. I’m sorry—I’m…I’m not sure what happened.”

“I think you had a flashback, Bucky—like, shellshock.”

Bucky looked at him under the fringe of his filthy hair, haunted, hunted. “I…I’ve never felt…quite like that before. I think maybe Zola did something to me, Steve. I mean…he _did_ things but…like, maybe something permanent.”

“Okay, it’s all right,” Steve said, putting an arm around him. “It’ll be all right. You don’t have to fight at my side to fight with me.”

“I’m not fucking leaving—“

“Well—you’re a great goddamn shot, Bucky. We can get you a sniper rifle.”

Bucky sagged under his arm in relief. “Okay, yeah. That’d be good. That’d be good.”

“I’m gonna help you, Bucky.”

 

 

 

Steve raised his hand and knocked a second time. “Olivia? Do you mind if I come in?”

He heard her murmuring to herself (or maybe to Jarvis), then the door unlocked and he opened it. 

She was sitting in her prison scrubs on the foot of the bed. She didn’t meet his eyes. Her shoulders curled up. “Where’s Victor?”

Steve pulled the chair at her writing desk out to himself and sat by the bed. “He’s….gonna need some time, I think.”

She nodded, swallowing hard and looking at the floor. “He had no part of it. Any of it.”

“We know,” Steve said gently. “He’s been released.”

“Okay,” she said softly to her knees. “Thank you.”

“Olivia,” Steve said softly, earnestly.

She barely glanced up under the fringe of her hair. 

“I’m not going to hurt or kill you—no one is going to torture you.”

She looked down at her knees and Steve saw her hands were curled up in her shirt because she was shaking. “So what happens now?” She managed, voice choked and stilted.

“Now we….integrate you with us,” Steve told her.

She froze and then looked up at him, slowly. 

“Well, I mean—no one’s gonna kill you and we’re not dumping you out. It’d be pretty hypocritical. But you know the safest place for you—is going to be with us.”

She looked down, nonplussed. She hardly breathed. “Wh...I…..I don’t….”

“You’re afraid. But you know that once you run, what you’re afraid of will never let you stop. You don’t want to be trapped here but you don’t want to just die, either. Right? I mean, you would—as an acceptable alternative. But before this—all you wanted to do was work hard and feel useful, yeah?”

She swallowed hard. “…..y-yes,” she said faintly.

“Has that changed?” He asked her, looking right into her face.

“Well…no…” she faltered under the intensity of his blue eyes and then met them, “but I—“

“Then as far as I’m concerned, you’re here to work with us; just like Bucky, Pines, Wanda, Pietro and Natasha.”

He saw something in her expression break apart. Something raw, intense, something burning with this mix of shock and _understanding_ and he saw her lift her hand, like she wanted to reach out to him and then she suddenly seemed to snap out of it, drawing her hand back to herself. “I…I….” She looked down, suppressing a sob.

Steve could feel every hum of tension in her, shock and grateful and fearful and something like longing. He reached out and very lightly, touched her shoulder. She cringed but when he didn’t let go, she looked at him. He saw her eyes search a little frantically as he pulled her in against his chest and embraced her. 

She shook against him a moment and then she said, voice a whisper, “You’ve been very kind to me…”

Steve ran his fingers through her hair. “There's no reason not to be.” He shrugged a little.

She slumped against him, muscles shaking tension out of her limbs as she allowed herself to grab onto him and let him take the weight of her relief and nausea and fear and something big like….like realization or devotion or something confusing. She breathed hard, ragged and he let her cling to him as he braced his back against the wall. Olivia relaxed in his arms as she fell apart again, exhausting herself to silence and finally falling asleep against his chest. She curled up right into him, small and shielding her ribs and head like she was expecting a blow. He shifted her closer, pulling her blanket up around her and just let her sleep against him. It was biology, really. He was huge, warm and non-threatening. He’d told her she wasn’t about to die. (Of course, had he realized she thought they were going to murder her, he would have opened with that.) She felt safe enough to collapse. 

Something about that made him look down at her again, bright ocean eyes closed, fingers curled into his t-shirt. She had two freckles. One was on her cheekbone, the other was at her hairline. He looked away, combing his fingers through her hair and noting how that made all the remaining tension bleed out of her.


	22. Some Tuesdays Aren't Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Rumlow worked alongside Captain fucking America and is the biggest Hydra cheerleader in, at least, this state. That’s almost incomprehensible, even to me. The man is a walking billboard of….freedom and loyalty and shit like that. But—that’s because I’m _predisposed_ to think little of Rumlow and more of Steve Rogers. Steve was very isolated in Washington DC. He was lonely. He had no one left that he knew. And no idea how to interact with a completely changed society, social structure, religion and culture. Shield _gave_ him a Strike team. He didn’t _assemble_ it himself. It wasn’t his. And they all probably knew it.”
> 
> \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What is your name?”

“Mason Kulpak.”

On the screen, Rumlow was restrained at his wrists and ankles. He did not fight them at all. He watched Wanda. 

Wanda was not currently in the conference room. Tony had wanted to get this over with and Harkness gave them the go-ahead, assuring them that, as Wanda had conducted the interview, she knew the details. She could inform Barnes. Wherever they were.

And she could inform Steve later, if need-be. As the Captain was currently down in the cells. Apparently, he was talking to Olivia. Also, it would be less distracting for everyone else if Barnes and the Captain _weren’t_ there. Everyone would be worried about their reactions. Now they could just watch Rumlow as he was. 

Harkness watched quietly.

On the screen, Wanda glanced to her left where, off-screen, Harkness was also watching quietly.

“I looked up Mason Kulpak. Some kid born in Virginia, picked up by Child Services when he was six and a half and then all record of him disappears,” Natasha said, nodding at Rumlow. “If Hydra has people in Social Services, then I guess it’d be easy for them to find subjects.”

Clint looked down at the tabletop. If things had gone just a little differently, if he and his brother hadn’t run off to the circus then—

Clint shook himself a little, looking back at the screen. _That could have been me._

Somewhere in his head, Loki said, _It was you._

Clint took a long drink from his beer and buried his teeth in some pizza.

Bruce glanced sidelong at him but Clint didn’t meet his gaze.

“How old are you?” Wanda said on the screen.

“I’m thirty-nine.”

“How long have you been part of Hydra?”

“For as long as I can remember.”

“Can you tell me about their training for young boys?”

“Training for children was modeled after the Red Room—but couldn’t be conducted properly, like the Red Room. Because if someone found out—it was….it was more likely to be stopped here, than in Russia.”

“Have you ever been to the Red Room?”

“Once,” Rumlow said, voice quiet and flat. “I was twenty-three.”

“Why were you there?”

“I was there for training. One of the Reds was supposed to teach me for a year.”

“Hydra thought you had special potential, then.”

“Yes. I trained with Nadya. She was younger than me. But she was _better_ than me.” Rumlow looked down. “In every way.” 

He actually looked hurt by the admission.

“Does that bother you?” Harkness asked from the side.

“Yes. It told me that…I was expendable. That I was…nowhere near as important as this teenager from the Red Room. And if it came down to it, she would always be the preference. I wanted to be _better_ than her. Than all of them.”

“Were you?” Wanda asked.

“No. I never was. I was stronger, yes. I’m very strong. It’s why I was selected to leader Captain America’s strike team. But I was never…as fast, or as agile or as…trusted. As they were.”

“Captain America trusted you,” Wanda said softly.

“No, he didn’t,” Rumlow said to the floor. “I was good but not good enough to fool him. He was never…” Rumlow took a deep breath. “Hydra thought he would…want to…want to be close to someone in combat again. Like he was with Barnes, Carter or Wilson or Romanov. But he didn’t. Rogers trained with us sometimes but usually, he was off by himself.”

“Why do you think that was?”

“Cap…understood team cohesion. But we weren’t his team.”

“That’s right,” Harkness said from the side, appearing on the screen, circling Rumlow’s chair. “The Howling Commandoes were his team. Did you want to be like them? Could you have followed Captain America?”

“No. I can’t see Hydra how he sees Hydra. I couldn’t see Shield, how…he saw Shield.”

“And how did he see Shield?”

“It was the last gift that Carter left for him. And we made sure to ruin that too. Because it was a cancer on all of us. It was a yoke that held everything back. Hydra wanted to give the world a new, clean start. To truly….to….” 

Behind Rumlow, Harkness looked at Wanda and raised her eyebrows. Wanda looked at Rumlow’s eyes and focused in on him. “What, Mason? What did Hydra truly want?”

“Power,” he said, finally. He searched the floor around him. “I thought it was…it was going to be something new and…good. But….it was just like Shield. Corrupted by power.”

“You had good intentions,” Harkness allowed, folding her arms and continuing to walk around him. “You wanted to do what was right—but you didn’t know what was right?”

“Hydra….told me what was right,” Rumlow said quietly.

“And you believed them. Just like many believed Shield.”

Rumlow’s eyes flickered up to watch Harkness walk behind the camera and around again. “We wanted to _protect_ our world from what’s coming.”

In the conference room, Pietro sat up a little straighter. Tony glared at the screen.

“From what’s coming?” Wanda asked.

“When Loki of Asgard appeared—we found out what the Tesseract was. When he was defeated, we found the scepter he used. It completely changed Hydra’s time table. Loki’s chaos did more for Hydra than all of our work in the last sixty years _combined_. And at first, we thought it was a sign—a good omen. But…then…”

“What?” Harkness asked quietly.

“The scepter could wake on its own. It _influenced_ people. It could… _see_ …what you were. And change little things in your head. To bring out your potential—whatever that was.”

Jane suddenly stiffened, staring at the screen. 

“What about Loki? He wielded the scepter, didn’t he?”

Rumlow looked up at Harkness again. “He….held it. Yes. But Hydra didn’t think he was….in control. At least, not as much as he thought he was.”

“Loki was being influenced by someone else through the scepter?”

“Oh no,” Jane said softly, eyes going wide. She went pale.

_Who controls the would-be king!_

_You’ll lose because you lack conviction—_

Jane clutched at the edge of the table. _Because it wasn’t Loki’s….plan. It was…someone else’s…._

“Jane?” Darcy murmured, leaning into her line of sight. “Are you okay? You—what’s wrong?”

She looked at Darcy, swallowing hard. “What…what Loki did to Barton and Erik….someone was doing the same thing to _him_.”

On the screen, Rumlow continued, “We suspected that. And then…those who’d been _touched_ by that thing. Clint Barton, Erik Selvig, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, agents of ours—they heard voices sometimes. Wanda could control them—or at least didn’t seem to hear them like the rest did.”

“Did Pietro?”

In the conference room, Pietro looked down at the table, scanning. Darcy looked at him sidelong, watching him search the wood for a memory or an answer or _something_ —

“He did. We had to stop with him. It would make him go crazy. He would bash himself up against the walls and tear at his own hair. They both dreamed about it. Then one day, during a test—Wanda mentioned a name. _Thanos._ ”

On the screen, Harkness stopped her pacing, glancing sidelong at Wanda. “What did Hydra learn about Thanos?”

“He’s some sort of being on the other side of the universe. He knows about these objects. That they have power and somehow, they were hidden here on Earth like we’re a goddamn Swiss bank for the other worlds.”

“All of them were?”

“No. Just two.”

Harkness jolted. “Two?”

“The Tesseract was one—before it was returned to Asgard—the Aether and Scepter were _brought_ here. But there’s supposedly another here on Earth somewhere. We were trying to find it.”

Harkness stepped off the screen, Wanda followed her with her eyes. “What is it?” Wanda asked her.

“Remind me to make a call after this,” Harkness said quietly. “How many of these objects exist?”

“Hydra didn’t know. But we wanted them, just like everyone else.”

“For Hydra, though,” Wanda asked.

“Yes…Hydra was…how do I explain….” Rumlow took a deep breath. “Hydra was…Hydra provided for you. If you didn’t have somewhere to live, Hydra found you somewhere. If you needed to eat, they gave you food. If you wanted to fight, they’d teach you. It wasn’t selective like Shield was. So anyone could find their way into Hydra. We recruited orphans, soldiers, the lost and the desperate. Hydra took care of them and in return, whatever skills they had were quickly parsed out and used in _some_ way.”

“Hydra took care of their people,” Wanda said, something stilted crossing her face.

“For a lot of us, yes. But Hydra makes demands in return. Strength. Loyalty. Sacrifice. And people are a lot more willing to give those things if you take care of their basic needs.”

Harkness nodded a bit. “Well, you’re not wrong, Mason.”

“Mason,” Rumlow repeated quietly. “That’s my name?”

“Yes,” Wanda agreed softly. “It is.”

Rumlow looked at his knees and then up at Harkness. “Why did you let me live? Why didn’t you let the Witch tear my face off?”

Wanda looked up too, following Harkness around the room again in her layers of scarves, her jeans and ragged skirt, her flannel shirt and beaded jewelry. All an illusion.

“Well, she was holding back time—which is dangerous and I wanted her to stop.” She tongued her cheek. “I also thought it was interesting that you chose to come here alone for one low-level researcher.”

“You all came for Banner.”

“Banner is one of the Avengers. And he’s been hunted for years. He can’t control part of himself,” Wanda said, voice blunt and methodical. “Pines is, no doubt, intelligent—but he’s not Bruce Banner.”

“Probably for the best,” Tony muttered.

Bruce chuckled and smiled ruefully at Rick. The young man gave him a wane, rather shy smile in return.

“Yes, it was _reckless_ for all of you bastards to show up at an unknown base in a foreign country, flaunting the authorities and causing a bunch of noise.”

At the table, Banner stiffened. “He _murdered_ \--“ And then he cut himself off, scowling.

Wanda just smiled a little on the screen. “So why did you do the same?”

“Because honestly, Shield and Hydra aren’t that different. We learned the same ways of dealing with our enemies. Because we were in Shield from the beginning. Ah, Carter. That poor dumb bitch. She was wasted with Shield. You know, she created Shield, and they put her in the trunk of it because she was a woman.” Rumlow shook his head. “Even Hydra wasn’t that bad. It was acknowledged that sometimes, girls had different strengths and when you build up those strengths—they’re fucking unstoppable. I would never fight one of the Red Room agents. If you ever meet one besides Romanov—I hope she’s with you, or that _Barnes_ is—since he trained a lot of them.”

In the conference room, Natasha’s eyes narrowed. 

Harkness peered at him. “Let’s talk about your _thing_ about Barnes. Who is he?”

“Bucky Barnes,” Rumlow scoffed. “The Winter Soldier. The best of all the Soldier agents. He didn’t even _want_ it.” He looked away. 

Wanda scowled a little. “He was kidnapped, had his arm cut off and replaced and was held against his will. _Should_ he have wanted it?”

Rumlow looked at Wanda. “Did _you?_ You had nothing until you came to Hydra, right? And then you had food, clothes, an education and the power to get to Tony Stark—”

“I had a tiny cell where I was made to torture my brother.”

“Sounds like that didn’t bother you very much until recently.” Rumlow lifted his eyebrows.

Wanda bristled. “You can’t even _think_ for yourself, much less—“

“Wanda,” Harkness said, voice soft but firm. “Step outside with me.”

 

 

 

“This is the same problem you had with Major. When you project _your_ feelings on an issue that you draw out of someone else—then its no longer truly about their thoughts, their minds, its about _yours_.”

“Everything he says is why we left Hydra! But there is also…the….the good of it. He’s—“

“I understand that you’re upset. I’m not criticizing you, Wanda. I’m telling you that if you predispose yourself to feel a certain way about a person—then you will warp whatever thoughts you get from them. What you hear will be tainted by whatever _you_ think about them—because you don’t know who they are at their core. Only they do. You can create incredible illusions based on memories that you find—that’s like a dream. But to hear whatever the truth means to _them_ and be able to separate that from your own feelings about them—that’s what you must learn. I can see that you hate Rumlow. But that you also find a lot in common with him. And it wasn’t so different from you and Pietro. But you changed when you met the Avengers. Rumlow worked alongside Captain fucking America and is the biggest Hydra cheerleader in, at least, this state. That’s almost incomprehensible, even to me. The man is a walking billboard of….freedom and loyalty and shit like that. But—that’s because I’m _predisposed_ to think little of Rumlow and more of Steve Rogers. Steve was very isolated in Washington DC. He was lonely. He had no one left that he knew. And no idea how to interact with a completely changed society, social structure, religion and culture. Shield _gave_ him a Strike team. He didn’t _assemble_ it himself. It wasn’t his. And they all probably knew it.”

“Are you saying this is _Steve’s_ fault?” Wanda felt her hackles come up.

“It’s no one’s _fault_ that the world sucks and life isn’t fair. That’s just how shit goes. It’s easy to blame—yes, it’s _Rumlow’s_ fault. But is it, Wanda? He was taken as a child and _molded_. Can you make morally ambiguous decisions when you’re six? We can barely make them as adults. _However_ ,” Harkness said, raising a finger as Wanda gritted her teeth. “Hydra showed him power and he liked it. And he liked it so much that he did some terrible things despite the walking reminder next to him of why he might reconsider.”

“This is all a lead-in to telling me that I can’t kill him, isn’t it?”

Agatha shrugged. “Well, yes. You can’t kill him. Or, at least, you _shouldn’t_. Hydra has taught you strength and violence—but I think it would be a better idea to wait and see how he’s affected by all this. To see if you showing him his memories can trigger any kind of change. If not—all right, then leave his fate to the Avengers and beg to be the one who puts him out of his misery. You’ll probably have to fight Sam for it. But for now…remember the patience that Steve is trying to teach you when he took you out on missions with him so he could integrate you into the team. Do you remember? Your first instinct was to strike—to go into the target’s mind and root around. He told you to wait. And you respected him, so you listened. I’m not asking you to respect me here, Wanda—I’m asking you to think outside of what Hydra would do—and consider what Steve might do, instead.”

“Rumlow just said Hydra and Shield are the same.”

“Not Shield. Steve. What Steve Rogers might do. He is _not_ Shield. Who is he?”

Wanda huffed. “Captain America.”

“No,” Harkness insisted. “Who _is_ he?”

“Steve Rogers.”

“Steve Rogers,” Harkness repeated. “A _good_ man.”

Wanda peered at her, brushing against Agatha’s mind and found a wall of defenses. Her mind had the solid feeling of a locked door but also something… _worn_ about it. Something old. “How old _are_ you?”

Harkness smiled a little. “You should never ask a lady her age. Ask her about her knees, instead.” She turned away. “Or maybe her ankles.”

“Why do you never _answer?_ ” 

“Ask me about my toes and I will.”

“Ask you _what_ about your toes?” Wanda huffed, throwing her hands up as she followed Harkness back into the holding room.

 

 

 

On the screen, those present saw nothing of their conversation in the hall—just Rumlow sitting by himself for several minutes (that Tony fast-forwarded through). Then the door opened and the witches returned. 

“We’re going to stop for the day, Mason,” Agatha said. “There will be more talks like this. For now, you should rest and think about things. About what you’ll do now that Hydra thinks you’re dead. You have a chance to be free from them, Mason. To be your own man. You should consider it.”

Rumlow scoffed in his chair. “I’m already free.”

The video went off.

 

 

Tony sat back in his chair. “Well, I give him a two out of five stars, really. I mean, it was pretty convincing. But strangely two-dimensional. Also, he’s _thirty-nine?_ ”

“Right!” Natasha agreed. 

“Well, yeah,” Clint said. “Did you think he was twenty or something?”

“Well, no…but….just…wouldn’t have guessed thirty-nine.”

Natasha snorted. “Clint can’t understand it—because he’s one of those people. Who you can’t tell how old they are.”

“What—wait—you guys don’t know how old I am?”

“Anyway,” Bruce cut in neatly. 

“I need to get a message to Thor,” Jane said, looking at Harkness. 

“Wait, you can’t contact Thor?” Tony asked.

“Since _when_ have I been able to contact Thor? I could _never_ contact Thor. My cell phone isn’t _that_ good.”

“I might be able to help…..” Harkness said, peering down the table at Jane. “You know though, I’m a bit surprised you can’t.”

Jane furrowed her eyebrows. “Why? Because of the Aether? There doesn’t seem to be any residual effect from the Aether being inside me.”

“That’s….interesting,” Harkness said, appearing to think about it. She looked back at Jane. “Have you actually been examined by anyone with magic?”

“I was examined in Asgard.”

“But it wasn’t removed in Asgard.”

“No,” Jane affirmed softly. Something in her went still and cold, thinking about that dark and desolate wasteland, where Loki had exchanged his life for hers and—

Darcy touched her shoulder. When Jane looked at her, her friend gently rubbed at her back.

Across the table, Tony suddenly looked at Jane as well. It had never occurred to him to ask _Jane_ what she had seen. Was it like what he saw when he crossed through? The beauty and terror of other worlds. Of incredible power. Life and death. 

“What did you see when the Aether was inside of you?”

Jane felt everyone’s eyes turn to her. Her shoulders curled in a little. “I saw…a lot of things. I…don’t know what they all were. Places I’d never been, objects, people I didn’t know, others….places. Other…”

“Worlds?” 

Jane paused, peering at the witch. “Yes. I think so. What is it that _you_ know about all this, Harkness?”

“I think that’s a question that’s been put off a little too long,” Natasha said quietly.

“What Thor has told you all is true. He is the Crown Prince of Asgard. There are, at least, eight other worlds—“

“Okay, are they worlds, dimensions or just fucking planets?” Sam asked, leaning on his elbow. “You all say _worlds_ like it’s all mysterious and shit—but that can mean a lot of things.” 

Harkness nodded. “You’re right. I apologize. Thor travels through space via the Rainbow Bridge, just like how the Scandinavians said. But he _is_ traveling through space. We’re in the same dimension. I guess it’s more akin to other planets. Galaxies that have residents that aren’t us. Thor travels lightyears in the blink of an eye. We have no concept of just how far away Asgard is.”

“Have you ever been there?”

“No,” Harkness smiled a little. “I wish I could say I had. I’ve heard it’s spectacular. A whole planet of people who look like Captain America and Falcon—I could do that. And just the incredible libraries, animals, magic and people; it’s what I always dreamed magic would be like. But I have never gone. It very difficult for us to travel anywhere else. I imagine that’s why some of the Infinity Stones were hidden here.”

“Wait, did you just imply that you would bang Captain America?” Clint lifted his eyebrows.

Harkness lifted her eyebrows back at him. “Also Sam, he doesn’t need to be left out. As you are not a woman or, as far as I know, gay; I don’t really expect you to understand.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Sharon nodded and smirked at Sam.

“That’s my shit,” Darcy muttered.

Sharon burst out laughing and high-fived Darcy from across the table.

“Goddammit, you guys,” Clint said, chuckling.

Harkness looked back at Jane. “Anyway—Earth is the only planet that isn’t connected to the others any more. It was. At one time. But I’ve never found out why that connection was severed. I assumed it’s something to do with war or magic. Or both. Likely both. But those who _can_ control access to the other galaxies here on Earth are overseen by the Sorcerer Supreme and she is entirely unwilling to reopen that access to the other worlds.”

“Why?” Tony asked.

“She certainly never shared council with me,” Harkness said, shrugging a shoulder. “I suspect it’s something that most of us wouldn’t understand or, if we did, we’d be terrified or angry.”

“Aw, another day in paradise. So, a Tuesday, then?” Tony grouched. 

“Some Tuesdays aren’t bad,” Darcy said. “I think Loki brought the Chitauri on a Wednesday. So the day before wasn’t bad.”

“How would you ever remember that?” Bruce asked.

“I didn’t. Facebook Memories reposted it last summer. Isn’t it crazy that that was like, four years ago? Four? I didn’t share it though. Seemed….tacky. Also, after I saw it I had to stare really hard at the television and start drinking. Also, I didn’t want anyone to panic.”

“Thank you,” Tony muttered. “I’m getting a headache. Let’s end it for the day. I hate talking about work.”

Harkness nodded. “Jane, shall we meet up with Wanda later this evening? We will need her in our attempt to contact Asgard. I’ve never been able to do it—but she might be able to help. I should think they would be listening for you.”

Jane blinked. “What? Listening for me?”

Harkness looked at her. “You are a mortal from a world that, until recently, has been locked out of the intergalactic neighborhood. You withstood the power of the Aether. Not only were you brought to Asgard by their crown prince, you were there when the Queen was murdered. You were there when Prince Loki apparently died.”

“Apparently?”

“In my experience,” Harkness said, lifting a hand, “people like him don’t die very easily.”

“How do you know?” Bruce asked quietly.

“Because everyone _wanted_ him dead. He somehow found himself on the other side of the universe and made a….pact, with the Other. If he lived through that…I wouldn’t count him as being dead until you see a corpse that you can confirm is his. He can shapeshift, correct?”

“Then why would he let Thor think that he died for me?”

Harkness looked at the tabletop and then back at Jane. “Indeed. Why would he?”

Jane looked away.

“And then you came back to Earth—Midgard—if they’re _not_ keeping an eye on you, they’re idiots. Hopefully, they’re not idiots and their Watcher will be keeping an eye or ear out for you. You met him, didn’t you?”

“You mean Heimdall.”

“Yes. I’ve heard he’s quite extraordinary,” Harkness said. 

Jane nodded to the table, putting her forehead in her hand. “It _all_ was.” 

_Oh, Frigga, if I could have saved you…._

“I’ll see you tonight, then,” Jane said quietly, too quickly, getting up and grabbing her notebook so she could get out of the room before she broke face.

Tony sighed. “Well. Traumatized for life again.” He picked up his tumbler and left. One by one, they all followed suit.

Except Natasha. She played the video again, watching it by herself. _How did he get by me? How did I not suspect him?_

She studied him intently for answers.


End file.
